March 18 three years ago brought me this scrawny, goopy, cone-headed bundle of wonder:

That day, I met my firstborn, my son, my introduction to motherhood and a love so much bigger than words.

As I watch my 3-year-old race around the house and listen to him chatter about his latest imaginary adventures, it’s hard to remember that tiny body I cradled in the hours after his birth: A stranger, so new, so alien, so helpless. How much has changed in three years, for him and for me.

Corin’s birthday weekend began with an awesome afternoon playing with his cousin Benjamin, who was staying with Grandma and Grandpa. Then yesterday, I summoned my energy reserves and threw a Curious George party, because I’ve learned that nothing compares to seeing my little boy having fun. He did, and it was so worth it. All these little ones are growing up so very fast. They’re learning to interact and crack each other up, and it is awesome.

Look closely at that family photo, and you’ll see two very tired adults who are navigating our share of stressful times on less sleep than we’d like, a wound-up little boy who had banged his head on the edge of his bed hours before the party, and a baby who was rapidly reaching the must-get-to-bed-now point. But, it is our family. That was not always a given for us. The day of my son’s birth will forever be the day we moved from hopes and dreams to reality. Life is hard and messy. There is no avoiding that. But both of my children are utter miracles. Today is Corin’s day, the day we celebrate the gift he is to our family. I cannot imagine my life without him, and I am infinitely grateful to a good God that I do not have to. My heart really does beat in that sweet, shy, funny, smart, energetic, quietly stubborn little guy’s body, and there’s nothing for it but to keep loving and praying like crazy.

Happy birthday, son of mine. How glad I am you are here.