It was forty-five years ago today. On a sunny Wednesday afternoon, our prayers were answered and I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy 6 pound 2 ounce baby boy. We were overjoyed.
One of the funny stories about the birth of this child is that we had intended for his name to be something else. I no longer even remember what the chosen name was, but in the hallway outside the delivery room one of us said "Let's name him Christopher Brian." And the other one of us said "OK." And so it was decided. And somehow it was also decided that he would be called Brian. I'm not sure if we ever told him that.
There was great joy on that day. But if I'm honest, I must also admit that in addition to being overjoyed, I was also terrified! In all the months leading up to this event, I was focused on the birth process and on the baby. Once he was born, I became aware as I never had been before that this child was now dependent on me. To feed him and clothe him. To change his diapers. But also to nurture him. To teach him. To grow him up into a mature, responsible adult. I was overwhelmed.
We took him home from the hospital and settled into life as young parents. I didn't break the baby! Now he's all grown up. And I am so proud of the man he has become.
Happy Birthday, Brian. I love you.
"Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD." (Psalm 127:3 ESV)
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