I struggle to find the balance between capturing every moment and wanting to keep your laughter a secret between us.
For Mother's Day, my sister wrote me the sweetest poem:
Little hands and little feet A swift nine months, we finally meet Every day that passes, you grow into something a little new But no matter what age you'll be In my heart, you belong to me.
I am grateful for my family. Thankful for my village. We prayed for a healthy and happy baby boy. I believe our faith-filled prayers did not fall on deaf ears. They fertilized the soil in which God's promises were planted.
He is Tino; he is me; he is every answered prayer.
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