Two years ago - long before I saw my son's face or met his birthmother - I wrote this post about the woman who would carry him, give him life, and then make the decision that would ultimately lead him into mine.
I went back and re-read that post this morning and - after having the incredible opportunity to meet her - I'm amazed at how accurate many of my words and thoughts were.
Yesterday being Mother's Day, and my first official one at that, I thought about her a lot.
Over and over I pondered the fact that
another woman
carried
and birthed
this child
but that he
calls me
Mamma
and I call him
mine.
And that, my friends, is an incredible responsibility.
She trusted me - a total stranger - to do what she could not. She asked me to make sure that her son would be okay, and that he would grow up healthy and strong and thriving. She trusted me to take.good.care of him.
Yesterday, I was celebrated and honored as an important part of Briggs's life. I had an amazing day with flowers and family and cuddles and new jeans.
But in my heart, I celebrated her, because she too is an incredibly important part of Briggs life. I want Briggs to always know that. And I pray that I can live up to her expectations and honor all the things she trusted me with in raising this boy.
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