I'm so, so thankful to have new family pictures (said all the moms in the room!). Shannon Mills Photography did an incredible job with a short window of time and impending rain - and a few wiggle worms - and I love that she captured our family at this crazy wonderful season. 

This day.

These photos were taken just moments before I realized I was going into labor. Little did any of us know how our lives were about to change in a matter of a few hours. I will cherish these photos - and this day - forever.

One year with Brooks Wilder.

Dear Brooks Wilder,

You're one. ONE! This year flew even faster than I thought it would.

A couple weeks ago, I baked vanilla cupcakes for your birthday party. As I whipped the batter and let your siblings taste-test the frosting, my mind went back to a year ago that day. A year before, I was not frosting cupcakes or feeling light and hopeful. Instead, I lumbered around as if I was carrying a baby elephant, contracting every few minutes but not dilating, wondering if you'd ever arrive. Your swift kicks into my right rib confirmed that yes, you were getting stronger and I was getting closer to meeting you. But I still had a hard time seeing the light at the end of what felt like an endless tunnel.

But then one bright June morning, you decided it was time. The hospital room was quiet, only the sounds of deep breaths through strong contractions and hymns playing in the background. We'd made it to a birthing room - my only birth plan after giving birth to Lanie in triage - and I felt safe and ready to meet you, mercifully two weeks early.

Within a couple hours, you were ready to come. There were other patients my doctor needed to see, but I pleaded with her: "I know I can do this in a few pushes. Please just stay." She agreed, gowned up, and I pushed you out in one long contraction. You didn't cry and needed deep suction to clear your lungs after such a quick passage through the birth canal. But you were perfect. As soon as they placed you on my chest, you stared up at me and looked so familiar, as if I'd known you for a hundred years.

The next few months proved difficult. You did not sleep at night. I made my nest in a bed next to your crib for months on end, hoping it would be easier to nurse you every 2-3 hours without making a trip down the hall. But after 5 months of this, I finally noticed a trend: I'd pick you up to nurse, you'd take one good drink, then you'd nestle in and fall back asleep. You didn't want food. You wanted your mama.

Even now, you're not our best sleeper. The other night, after a 12-hour shift at the hospital, I was exhausted and complained to Shawn as I dragged myself out of bed at the sound of your cry,

This feels never-ending.

I meant not-sleeping-through-the-night. But when I said it, I felt a pang of guilt. Because it does end. Seasons change. Babies will not always need their mamas to hold them in the midnight hours. On the week of your birthday, a dear friend buried her 19-year-old son. His death came suddenly and served as such a startling reminder that we aren't promised tomorrow. I've been holding you a little closer, walking a little lighter into your room at night when you cry out for me to hold you. These days are precious and numbered and fleeting.

Since changing your name at 7 weeks old, you've garnered a plethora of nicknames: Brooksie, Brooksie Bear, Bear Bear, Boo, and Mr. Wilder (Lanie). You respond most quickly to "Bear."

Bear, your Daddy and I say it every day, but I'll say it again: you are a dream come true. Our dream come true.

I love you, son. Happy birthday!

Love,
Mom

For Brooks.

Brooks Wilder,

After a 12-hour shift at the hospital, which becomes 14 hours by the time I've left home and returned, one of the hardest parts is giving you what's left. It's easy to feel guilty because what's left... isn't much.

But as I rocked you tonight and soaked in your warmth, I couldn't help but think, I want to give you every last bit. Even when it would be so much easier to hand Daddy a bottle for you and head to bed, I couldn't stand to miss those precious final moments of your day.

My eyes, bloodshot and weary from watching the saddest stories flicker by, will never be too tired to look into yours, bright with hope.
My legs, sore from running down hospital corridors, are never too exhausted to bounce you in rhythm until you drift to sleep.
My arms, which ache as they pull patients up in bed, ache now to hold you.
My hands, scrubbed clean after changing wound dressings, now touch your soft, warm head.

You will always have first place in my heart, Brooksie, even when I go away for the day to be with patients. And I hope that when the day comes when God asks you to be brave and leave home and serve others, perhaps you'll see your Daddy and me and remember that with God on your side, you can. And you should. We've tasted and seen that when you spend yourself on behalf of the needy, God will give you what you need. Someday, I hope I will have the faith to lovingly push you out the door when you need that extra courage. Be brave, little love. Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.

I love you,
Your Mama

Windows.

When we first stepped into our current house, Shawn and I both knew immediately that we wanted to live here. For Shawn, it was the open white kitchen at the front of the house with ample counter space and new appliances. For me, it was the middle bedroom with its enormous double windows. I pictured Liam (almost 2 at the time) playing with his trucks in his sun-warmed room. I pictured nursing our baby girl, due in a few months, in a cozy chair in the corner. I couldn't have pictured our beautiful third baby, light streaming onto his dimpled cheeks and chunky thighs. 

We went through some sad days before meeting this breathtaking boy. But today, his smile that beams brighter than this light-filled room makes it feel like these windows - this house - were made for this moment. 

January.

It isn't our favorite month, to be sure. We miss the light that starts to fade before 5pm and have been staying mostly indoors, attempting to evade the flu. But looking at these pictures makes me so grateful for what we do have. A stack of library books and a boy who devours them. A deeply dimpled babe who smiles 99% of the day. A spunky little girl who eats hummus in a princess dress and keeps us on our toes. A cabinet full of art supplies. We've been given so much to make our hearts full and warm, even in January.

My favorite kind of before and after.

Left: July 2015
Right: December 2017

We're celebrating half a year with Brooks Wilder under our roof, and it's hard to imagine life before him. Putting photos side-by-side, though, makes it real. He was just a dream and now he's here, woven into every precious moment of our family. 

We couldn't have believed how much Liam and Lanie adore him. We affectionately call them "the fruit flies" because the moment Brooks enters the room, they swarm to him and won't leave him alone until they've smothered every surface of his chubby cheeks. The mornings are especially intense with Brooksie love, so I've started setting a timer for each child to get one-on-one time with him. Who wouldn't want to keep all that joyful squish all to themselves? I don't blame them for a second.

Two months with Brooks Wilder.

Dear Brooks,

Thirty more days around the sun has exploded our love for you, just as we expected.

You're weighing in at just under 15 lbs, which puts you in the 99th percentile for weight. "There is no 100th percentile. He's as big as they come," the doctor said. You have rolls in places I've never seen rolls. You are round and happy and apparently getting just what you need. You eat well and spit up a lot, but are generally calm and comfortable.

You're starting to interact with us more every day, easily recognizing Mommy's and Daddy's faces and flashing your bright eyes and deep dimples when we talk to you. You're so tolerant of those loving siblings of yours, not even whimpering when they clobber you with wet kisses all over your face.

You have a name now, sweet boy. One that feels so fitting and came straight from God's hand. We wouldn't have chosen it, but it fits you more perfectly than the one we did choose. And with it comes a story I will never tire of telling.

You are our peaceful place, and someday, we pray you will bring the peace you've found in Christ into our fractured world. We read the headlines today and everyday and there is such a need for the peacemakers. You have a purpose in this world, my Brooks.

I love you like crazy,

Mom

I hope this picture resurfaces at your rehearsal dinner someday. ;)