Dear Jackson Blaise,
First of all, how can you be three already?! Three years ago today you were an absolute enigma to me.
You were pink and hairy and your little dark eyes followed me everywhere. I didn’t know what to make of you, but you were really cute so we took you home.
Okay, even if you hadn’t been really cute, we would have taken you home. After all, you belonged to us. And it is this belonging that has indelibly changed my life.
I don’t know that my experience as your mother is different from any other mother’s. I love you, I worry about you, I live for you. That’s what all mothers do.
But I’m not all mothers, and you aren’t all sons. You are my son. No one else in the world can say, “I am Jackson Blaise, son of Lisa Jean-Francois and Andre Wynter.” And no one in the world can take credit for having single-handedly given me the guts to pursue my passions, except for you.
I am indebted to you, Jackson Blaise. I am indebted to you because you are everything I was too scared to even dream about. Because of you I know anything and everything is possible.
Happy Birthday, my love. You are light. You are joy. How blessed we are to have you in our lives.