Exactly one year ago last night, Chris was in Philadelphia for a conference, and I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in Nashville, with six positive pregnancy tests laid out one after the other, explaining to Chris over the phone that I might have an HCG-secreting pituitary tumor, and I needed to see a neurologist. He said we definitely needed to see someone, but probably not a neurologist. We went to the doctor a week later, and met our nearly eleven week old son via ultrasound. I will never forget holding Chris’s hand, tears streaming down my face, and watching that tiny heart beat beat beat.
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It took a lot of years and soul searching and therapy and Tony Robbins events before Chris decided to become a father. And throughout my pregnancy he voiced concern over the kind of father he would be. For me, I have never worried about him. Not for a second. Chris’s fatherhood is instinctive. There is a rightness to seeing him and Arthur together, and it causes such a depth of feeling in me to witness their relationship.
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Today is Chris’s birthday. It’s amazing how full a year can be, how full the last one was. I don’t know what this one will hold for us three, but I am so grateful for, as John O’Donohue says, the “Providence that has chosen us to be a family.” Happy birthday to the love of my life, the father of my son, and the best partner I could have ever dared to hope for.
