Owen

He was a surprise, to say the least. We had only been married a little over a year when we got the news...and nine months later, there he was. 8lbs. 13 oz of rock-our-world.
He is silliness and blue paint, squealing and Spiderman underwear....a miniature of Steve, but still his own man; he is stubborness and mischief, hugs and toy trains. He is constantly making messes, banging on the piano, giggling. He was a surprise...but a good one.

And he is four years old today.

I was looking through his baby scrapbook today and this is what I wrote at the beginning of it, when he was born. It still makes me cry every time I read it. I love you Owen. Happy Birthday.

There is an apprehension and a fear at the inevitable change;
of the sharp turn that life is about to take.
There is the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same again.
There is joy and fear...and silent mourning in the transition to three.
And yet...there is also a slow awakening as the months go by - a cautious anticipation - maybe this will be alright in the end.

What has happened when your life stops dead in its tracks for eight pounds?

LOVE has happened.

And what do you say to someone you know, but never met?
What do you say to someone who rocked the boat before ever stepping in?

You say thank you.