Dear Andrew,

Dear Andrew,

I never understood when I would see birthday posts from mothers to their babies who they said “made them mommy.” I didn't know what that meant.
I understand now.

I didn’t know that you weren’t a mother until you became one. That sentence sounds so obvious, but I guess I always thought “mother” was written into my job description. I didn’t know it was more than a new job, more than a new identity even. I didn’t know it was written deeply in my soul, but still needed to be awakened. I didn’t know, either, that it was a process. I guess I thought as soon as you were in the world, I would instantly be “Mama.”

It wasn’t like that, though. It was so much harder, longer, exhausting, and SO MUCH SWEETER than I could have ever imagined.

You are one year old today! Half of me can’t believe it and the other half of me totally can.

This past year has been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

It’s been so hard. You have not been a good sleeper, little boy. With your daddy working a full-time, physically exhausting job, mama taking 18 hours of graduate courses, seeing clients for counseling, and carrying your baby sister in utero, less than 4 hours of sleep per night for 6 months straight is just not going to cut it. But that’s what we did. I spent many hours holding you and crying this past year. Crying from exhaustion. Crying from being overwhelmed.

And crying from knowing that I wouldn’t trade one single second of that exhaustion if it meant not having you. Crying from the toll it takes on one’s soul to love someone SO hard and SO much that they would literally and gladly endure sleep deprivation every night of their entire life just to know you. I love your daddy something fierce, baby boy, in fact, he’ll always be my number one earthly love. But I’ve found that a mother’s love is its own, unique brand.

It’s a different kind of love than any other one. It’s not the same love as a wife, daughter, or friend. It’s a soul-stretching, sanctifying, deeply purifying love --- that is HARD won.

With all the stress of this year – you having surgery at 11 weeks after spitting up literally every single ounce of a bottle for a month straight, and then us not being allowed to feed you for 3 days (don’t worry, you had an IV of nutrition, but your belly was empty and you let us know for 48 hours straight how unhappy you were about that), having to watch my tiny baby son get 5 STINKIN IV’s because they kept coming out of your tiny veins, and then battling a lactose allergy and terrible reflux, we’ve spent a lot of time this year adjusting, readjusting, researching, consulting, and adjusting again. With all of that stress, I must confess, some UGLY things came out of your mama.

I found deep levels of selfishness, quick tempers, the tendency to want to blame someone, anyone for the struggle I felt. Your poor daddy caught the brunt of most of it as I snipped and snapped my way through months of grumpy, tired feelings… but good news, son….your daddy…he’s the best of the best. He loves your mom in a way that makes us both safe. We are the luckiest people to have him. J But as I saw this selfishness, pride, anger, and even some resentment surface during this year, God was faithful to buff it out. He didn’t let it linger. Conviction came quickly – sometimes from one of your precious smiles. Just as I would be furious, frustrated, and about to burst at the seams, you would smile, or sigh softly in my ear, or nestle deeper into my chest. My heart would melt and break simultaneously.

When your sin is confronted with something that precious, it doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve slowly watched the rough corners of my pride, impatience, irritability, and selfishness get smoothed over. I’ve seen my desperate clinging to attempts at control, independence, and a “I can handle this by myself” attitude start to chip away. They’re not gone, unfortunately, but they’ve been buffed down quite a bit. I learned to stop complaining, to enjoy more, to savor more, to laugh more, and to love deeper. I’ve learned to accept help. I’ve learned to loosen my grip of control just a bit.

 I’ve learned more about the sufficiency of God’s grace over the last year than ever before. I’ve learned more about selfless love and servanthood, not just with you, but in my marriage with your daddy too. I’ve learned what that love described in 1 Corinthians 13 actually looks and feels like.

You not only made me mommy, you opened the door for me to become a better person and to know our God and Savior so much more as well.

Little boy, words will never be enough. Never enough to tell you what a blessing, a treasure, a gem you are to me. I will spend my whole life thanking God for the privilege of being your mom, the gift of being the one tasked with pointing you to Him. I pray every day that I won’t get in the way. I ask God constantly that as much as I love you, that the deepest aim of my love – you knowing HIM – be fulfilled. Whatever He calls you to do, I’m already praying to not get in the way. Whoever He’s molding you to be, I can’t wait to see.

Andrew, my love for you is as big as an earthly love can be, but it compares in NO way to how much HE loves you. Your daddy’s love for you is a rich and pure as an earthly father’s love can be, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface of the love of your heavenly father.

Get to know Him. Follow Him. We’ll be your support every step of the way.

To the little boy who made me mommy, thank you. Your tiny mouth, eyes, hands, and feet contain the most joyous laugh, the biggest looks of wonder, the most precious reaches and hugs, and the sweetest play times this world has ever known.

You’ve taught me about the worth and creation of God more than anything else in my life. I will always be in your corner. I will always fight for you. When life knocks you down, you’ll always have a safe place to run. This is my promise to you, Andrew, that this new, soul-deep, all-encompassing love of a mother that I’ve found will never fade, not ever a blip, not even a drop. It will only grow as you do.

You will appreciate that one day, I’m sure, but when I’m still smooching your cheeks when you’re 15 and trying to leave for the prom, you probably won’t be that crazy about it. Too bad. J My kisses, arms, hugs, prayers, support, and love aren’t going anywhere. Not for a second.

I love you, Andrew Heath Warren. You are a far greater gift than I ever knew to expect.

You are more precious than our vocabulary knows how to articulate. I’m so glad I get to be your mommy.

Happy birthday, baby.

Don’t mind those tears you see falling down my face – that’s just what happens when the love is too much for one body to contain.