My sweet Coop,
I’m going to say something that goes against the grain here, baby boy…I didn’t fall in love with you the second you were placed into my arms. I loved you, yes. I cried, yes. I felt fierce protection, yes.
But I didn’t fall in love with you then.
I fell in love when you nuzzled into me the first time.
I fell in love when you started searching for my hand while drinking your bottles.
I fell in love when you met my eyes and purposefully smiled the first time.
I fell in love on October 18, as you slept peacefully in my arms and we were told you’d never heard our voices, never heard us say “I love you.”
In truth, I fall in love every day all over again. When your ocean eyes find me in a crowded room, when you make your opinion very known, when you’re sitting on the floor and reach for my lap.
In the beginning, I couldn’t wait for the day that you’d be able to hear my voice and hear my love.
But it’s different now. Being your mom has taught me that above all else, love is felt. It radiates from one body to another. You don’t need to hear me, baby boy. You know it. You know it all.
I love you from the bottom of my heart, the depths of my soul. You are my heart outside my body. Thank you for being mine.