Thirteen years ago this morning I was sitting in HCMC, sleep-deprived and waiting. J and I were there, with M’s birth family, in a crowd of people that the HCMC staff didn’t really even blink at. M was born later in the day. Thick red hair, bright blue eyes, red-faced and blotchy and squished in the manner of most newborns.
Holding him permanently altered the course of my life.
Happy birthday, sweet boy. I love you.
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