just how, exactly, I ended up
with this little ball of joy.
Pure joy is what he is.
My son moves my world
at its very core,
but also on its surface.
The topographic map of
my daily life has become
a foreign land.
There are peaks and valleys
that appear unexpectedly
in my soul.
There are rivers and streams
that wind through the forest
of my heart.
There are roads yet to be laid
and others that bear the
footprints of the thousands
who have walked before me.
Those parents look at my life
and nod, knowingly.
They see my joy,
they understand my struggle,
for they have lived my fear
and embraced my love.
They knew this is how
it would be for me.
I don't understand how they
could keep this a secret.
How are parents all over
the world not shouting,
"Pure Joy!" from every
rooftop?
Why aren't parents all over
the world dancing,
singing, weeping from
that joy?
We are all blessed.
We are blessed one million
times over to be witness to
the life of our children.
Let us celebrate that;
that pure joy that comes
with being somebody's
parent.
For it is, indeed, joy.
It is a blessing.
It is a heartache.
It is frightening.
It is inspiring.
It is the most difficult
of tasks.
It is an honor
and it is a privilege.
