Today (March 7) marks your one-year birthday. The first anniversary of the day you gasped your first breath of air. And you received your first kisses on your cheeks. And slept with the stars in view.
But your time in this world started long before this day
last year. The earliest picture we have
of you is from July 17, 2012—not long after you were just two zygotes.
Then, about eight months later, we found ourselves in a
hospital operating room. I kept watching
this clock on the wall as its second hand smoothly glided through each minute.
Then, at 4:31 and then 4:32, I saw you. First, Alden.
Then, Asa.
All of the nurses were excited by your red hair as the
doctor delivering you expressed disbelief: “The nurses always want to see red
hair.” You were brought into the world by a skeptic.
We sat in that room by your mother's head for a while, and I held you.
Over the past year, I expect that the clock that marked the
time of your birth has continued to glide round and round, with other masked men watching
it as intently as I did. During that time, the best things about you could not
be learned from books or websites. Without
a doubt, you have progressed much like studies would suggest that you would,
but there is sheer magic in watching you grow and explore
the world. Others have told me that it
only becomes more and more fun as time passes.
Another paradox. I can
and cannot wait to watch you grow up. I am excited to celebrate the passing of your
first year of life and to see who you will become in the next year—but,
admittedly, I also mourn the possibility that I did not catch
everything over the past year.
That time is gone. The clock in the operating room continues to make its trips from twelve
to twelve. Try as we might, your mother
and I cannot stop that whirring motor to take a free minute; all of this must take place in
real time. Others (the same "others" who say that each day is more fun than the last) warned us that this
would happen, and it will happen to you. But it seems so much more dire when
you realize that an entire year has passed and you hoped you could account for much more of it.
So, we will resolve to enjoy and savor this next year even
more than we did the previous year—if that is even possible. Your being here is nothing short of amazing, and I hope we are
able to teach you as many important things as we can. But I also hope that this note is preserved
and that, one day, when you can appreciate it, you will think about all of the
silly things that your father and mother have done to play with you and watch
you laugh and smile and that you will realize those hours were some of the best-spent and most precious that we
have ever known.
Happy birthday, twins.
2 comments:
Really glad I haven't bothered to put eye makeup on today, because geez, Austin. Quite possibly the sweetest, most perfect thing I've ever read on the internets. Love all of you very much!
Austin,
You are a fantastic writer! And your children are beautiful. I just love the red hair! I'd hoped I'd have some redheads, but it hasn't happened ;)
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