For Caleb — in every age, in every stage
Once, you were just an idea. A someday, a hope we spoke about in quiet moments, a promise we held for “one day.” You didn’t exist yet, but already you were part of our story — waiting in the wings of our future.
I loved you then.
Once, you were the size of a speck, then quickly you grew. I felt your kicks, I saw you on a screen. Grainy black-and-white images — arms forming, feet starting to move. I hadn’t held you yet, didn’t know your face.
I loved you then.
Once, you were a newborn, screaming your hello into the world. I had just met you, but the sound of your cry was already the most familiar thing I’d ever heard. Seven pounds, thirteen ounces — impossibly small, fragile in my arms, and yet you carried the weight of everything I had ever hoped for. In that instant, my life split into two halves: before you, and after you. The start of my new life.
I loved you then.
Once, you were an infant. Nights stretched endlessly. You cried, and so did I. I was exhausted, unsure, afraid I couldn’t do it. But I did — I learned your rhythms, your cries, your needs. And in between the hard moments were the quiet ones: your tiny hand wrapped around my finger, your breath against my chest.
I loved you then.
Once, you were a baby. Learning to roll. Finding your smile. Your first laugh echoing through the room. Your first steps — wobbly, proud, unforgettable. The way your hands reached for me, certain I’d be there to catch you.
I loved you then.
Here you are, a toddler. A personality all your own. You scream in frustration, throw things when you’re mad. That stubborn streak is your strength and your struggle all at once. You sway side to side to music, tiny fists keeping rhythm. You point with fierce determination, certain of what you want. You shriek with laughter as you race up and down the hall, your legs carrying you faster than I ever imagined. You drive me to the edge of my patience. You fill me with joy I never knew was possible. My world is unrecognizable from what it was before you.
Here you are, my toddler. And just so you know…
I love you now.
One day you will be grown, and maybe you won’t fully understand the depth of a parent’s love. From the moment you existed to the second you were born, I have loved you all along. I have watched you transform from a tiny infant — my tiny infant — into a little boy. I have seen you at your best and at your worst… and you have seen in me the same. No matter your age, I will never be able to forget you at each of these stages. Always, you will be my baby. Forever, my wild toddler. Someday, my grown son. Somehow you exist as all of these versions at once in my heart. And I have loved every single one.
I watched you learn to smile, to hold a bottle, to walk, to run, to use a spoon. I’ve watched your life unfold, bloom, and take form. How could I not love you this much?
One day, my little boy, you will be grown. You will no longer fit in my arms. We will no longer dance in the living room — you in your diaper, your feet keeping time. Maybe you will marry, maybe you will build a home of your own. You will move away from here, but never from my heart.
That day will come faster than I can believe — the day you are no longer little, yet always mine.
And I will love you then.
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