To Henry, To Mark His Ninth Month

Dear Henry,

You are now nine months old! How can that be? I want to somehow express the incredible joy you bring to our life – to put into words all the love and happiness we as a family have experienced because you are here.

In some ways, nine months seems like such a long time. I feel like I’ve blinked and here you are – pulling up and scooting around and putting every imaginable object in your mouth. Henry, I owe my clean floors to you. Even your brothers are fastidious about making sure there is nothing there for you to eat. And then, somehow, you always find something, that one last lego or cheerio or microscopic leaf that you quickly grab and plunge into your mouth. You are a miracle worker. Where do you find these things and how do you deposit them so deftly?

But a nine-month-old Henry, in many other ways, seems not long at all. How can you be only nine-months-old when I’ve known you my whole life? I barely remember what life was like before I had your sweet smile in the center of my heart.

Today we bought your first pair of shoes. I’m not sure if the other boys had shoes when they were so young, but you are ready to go! You have four big brothers to keep up with, and you need shoes to get you there faster.

As we walked around the shoe store, I delighted in how tiny your feet are. I looked across the shop and noted the bigger shoes and I got a lump in my throat. When I was buying these tiny white shoes for your older brothers, I didn’t believe they’d ever fit into those big shoes across the way. I thought – in moments of frustration and of glee – that they would be little forever. But here they are, my other babies, and baby shoes are a distant memory.

I looked down and realized that too soon, your chubby toes will expand, your little feet will start to lengthen. One day, we will look at these shoes that we bought today and we will laugh with amazement that they ever fit you. I had that thought, standing there in the store, and I pulled you closer. I held you tight with a sense of awe that you will indeed grow to be big and strong and fast like your brothers. You will be able to run across the room and then across the yard and then up the street to play with a friend.

Somehow my heart felt delight and sadness at the same time.

What I want to express to you, dear sweet Henry, is the overwhelming gratitude I have that you are here. When your brothers were little, so many of them so close in age, I could not imagine ever wanting another baby again. Life was so very full.

Somehow, those years went by and while your brothers are by no means grown and gone, they grew up enough that your dad and I realized that what people said was true – babies do not stay babies forever. Somehow, God put you on our hearts, and I thank him for that every single day.

While I realize that having another baby will not always be the answer (every family has a youngest!) – I’m sure glad it was the answer for us. The love you give to us, with your sweet kisses and tender hugs, is a tiny glimpse of heaven.

But even better is the love you draw out of us – your presence in our midst is a never-ending excuse to love extravagantly. You are wonderful, Henry. I love you.