Four Years

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Dear Max,

Four years ago at just about this very moment, we were packing you into your car seat, getting ready to go home. After 91 long days as commuter parents, you were finally coming home with us, where you belonged.

Four years, baby.

Memories of those first hours “on the outside,” the things that will stay with me always:

• I couldn't stop playing with your toes. For so long, they'd been obscured by oxygen monitors and tubes; I was fascinated by them in all their perfection.
• Your “My First Giants” hat was SO big, your tiny head swam in the folds of excess fabric. But we didn't care. It was the middle of baseball season, and we're going to raise you a fan no matter what!
• Daddy pulled the car up to the doors, and I carried your car seat out in the crook of my elbow. As your seat locked in to place, “Hey Jude” came on the radio. I still can't sing it to you without crying a little.
• We invited lots of family over to celebrate with us that night; I don't remember what we had for dinner, but I remember toasting you and our family with the Dom that Grandpa and Bubba had given us as a wedding present, and just staring at you.
• I couldn't believe you were real, and you were home.
• I was so nervous that first night, I barely slept.

We eventually settled into our routine, and we loved you more and more every day. Still do.

I am in awe of you.

I love you more than I thought possible.

You make me laugh til my belly hurts, cry sometimes, and astound me with your observations and innermost thoughts.
We have our struggles, kiddo. Someday, I'll tell you more about them. But nothing, NOTHING, could make me love you less.
Every week, when I take your Thursday picture, I add it to the big poster version, so I can take a few minutes and review how much you've grown, how far you've come. And then every week, I zoom out on that poster, until each image is just a tiny dot, and I marvel at how minor your NICU days have become. Only 13 Thursdays at the beginning of your life. Just a bump at the start of this incredible journey.

I love you so much, Peanut.

I love you around the world and back again.

I love you until forever.

I love you until we become Dodgers fans.

That's serious love, kiddo.

With all of my everything,
I love you.

With lots of smooches and group hugs,
Mommy