I'm really proud of Ewan.
Our home and my desk at work is plastered with pictures of him. Sometimes I get so caught up in looking, that I will reach out a finger and touch the picture, trying to remember the feel of his skin or hair. I will close my eyes and try to breathe in his sweet new baby scent again. I look at him, and I'm so terribly proud of him. I look at him, and I almost can't believe he came from James and me.
He didn't need to do anything to make me think this way of him. He didn't even need to be perfect -- he just needed to be. This realization has turned my heart inside out.
And the more stories I hear about how Ewan himself has wound its way around those hearts who least suspected it, the more I hear about prayers answered through his intercession, the more my heart swells with pride for the one I call my son. My son, my Ewan. I say it out loud sometimes just to affirm my relationship to him. I can hardly believe this one came out of my body.
I'm so very proud of him.