I haven't written about Jack in a long time. Around the time we moved back to Ireland, he began to place a high value on privacy. It was both endearing and frightening, my firm motherly hold on my firstborn seeming to slip ever so slightly.
Read moreJack was the first
Every mother has a birth story. Some of us have several and all of them are memorable. I've never heard a birth story where my jaw didn't hit the floor in one way or the other. Just last week an acquaintance of mine shared her beautiful birth story with me...
Read moreThe one who came last
Some days you sit in a car with a sleeping child because this is the only moment of peace in your day. He is a blur, in pictures and in your mind, so that when he is stilled - peach lips parted, chest gently rising, not even a sound escaping - you don't dare move for fear of missing it.
Read moreOn how God's way is a brilliant mystery, revealed to me on my birthday
I have a laundry list of things I need to do today and a short window in which to do them. But I feel like I can't charge forward without laying down some words first.
Read moreHow to be called (on your birthday)
So, we call you Jack, now.
I mean, we've always called you Jack. Your grandparents, aunts, uncles and sister call you Jack, and it has bounced between our tongues in our home from the moment we carried you into that first apartment. But to others, to the outsiders, to those whom we love but are still somewhat separate from our tight crew, you have always been Jackson. Until now.
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