St. Patrick’s Day is just around the corner, and the stores are filled with shamrocks, leprechauns, and “luck o’ the Irish” apparel. It got me thinking, I don’t need the luck of the Irish. My kids make me lucky every day.

How lucky am I to have carried you so close to my heart for so many months? With each passing week, you developed a little more, grew a little bigger, and became a bigger piece of me than I could have imagined. When at last you were born, you brought a piece of my heart out into this world with you, and you will carry it always. After feeling you kick and squirm for months, I witnessed your debut and heard you cry for the first time, all gargled as you cleared your lungs. How lucky am I that you were placed in my arms? You looked up at me like you had chosen me long ago and were finally home.

How lucky am I to have spent countless hours holding you close as I rocked and whispered my love to you? Sure, the nights were sometimes long, and my eyes were often heavy with sleep, but when would I ever get to hold pure love in my arms again, tucked so neatly in a blanket of blue? Your warm, soft body fit just right for such a short while, and I am so lucky to have experienced those days.

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