So, Saturday was Parker’s fifth birthday, which — appropriately enough — was also National Adoption Day. And tomorrow is the fifth anniversary of the day we found out his birth mother was considering us to be his adoptive parents. And Wednesday will be the fifth anniversary of the day we found out she’d chosen us to be his adoptive parents. And Thursday — which, appropriately enough, is Thanksgiving — is the fifth anniversary of the first day we laid eyes on our son and walked out of the hospital together, a family.
Five years. I look at Parker now — the active, healthy, curious, silly, playful, empathic little boy who screams “Daddy!” and runs to greet me when I come home — and I can still see the baby who was waiting five years ago for us to arrive, hold him in our arms, and take him home with us. Now, he’s such an amazing kid that at times I look at him with nothing but wonder, incredibly thankful that we are part of each others lives, and daring to hope that I’ve played, will yet get to play some role in helping him become whatever his talents and his passions make possible for him to become.
I remember someone told me once that being a parent is like having your heart walking around outside your body. It is, and I embrace it, with all the joy and worry that comes with it, because I know what happens to him also happens to my heart, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I wouldn’t exchange the job for any other, and I know I’d sign up for it again and again. No question. And then I’m thankful again.
And I know I always will be — beyond being “proud father,” which I am, I will always be a deeply, deeply grateful one. Always.
Happy Birthday Parker,