Mia
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you….” I sweetly sang to wake up my two-year-old son as we laid together in my bed. “Happy birthday, True…wake up, sweetheart,” I whispered, raking his thick black hair, “I love you….” kissing his forehead and rosy cheek softly before looking at him once more.
I never thought I’d love anyone again after my painful heartbreak. True was indeed my savior, and I couldn’t be happier and contented to see him grow in my arms. That seemed nightmare I had exactly two years ago when I first held him not in my arms but inside the machine with many tubes attached to him was over.
My baby had survived it. He overcame it with me. And He’s now a two-year-old smart and silly boy. His mini antics day by
