My best friend had a baby last October (You may remember the birth story). I happen to love him like a nephew (probably because I love her like a sister.) On Monday we took some portraits; to preserve the memory of his arm fat. His two teeth. His big eyes and drooling mouth. To capture this moment in time. Because babies — they grow up.
But Holden…before you get too big to sit in my lap. Too big to let momma give you a kiss in front of school. Too big to think your father is a superhero, I give you this:
You’re six months old now. You’ve got two teeth, you love Sophie the Giraffe, you are desperate for pizza, and you’re loved beyond measure. As you grow up, I wish for you many things. Friends. A carefree childhood. Enough tantrums to teach your parents patience, but enough discipline to keep you from being spoiled. I wish you scraped knees and training wheels. Pet frogs and best-friend dogs. But most of all, I wish for you your momma’s immense heart, and her unending kindness. Your daddy’s dry humor and his sense of style. May he also teach-by watching the simple way he absolutely, wholly, and without question loves your momma-what it means to truly love a woman without losing yourself. But may you get lost in love at least once.