Four years ago tonight I was lying in a hospital bed, in and out of a magnesium sulfate fog, trying to prevent you from being born five weeks too soon.
Tonight I was lying in your bed, telling you that there are no monsters, rubbing your back, and snuggling up to you as you drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow, four years ago, you decided waiting was not meant for you and there you were, all four pounds 13 ounces.
Tomorrow you will be four years old.
Happy Birthday, Pip. I can't imagine life without you.