Maybe it’s because the day is almost over, knowing the hardest part is behind me. Or maybe it’s because I’m picking Cohen up from school, and I know we’re about to have one of those conversations—the kind that always gets me, that makes me smile for reasons I can’t fully explain. Conversations with Cohen feel like sunlight in words. Innocent. Sincere. Unfiltered joy.
He’s almost nine now. Nine. That realization alone hits me like a soft punch to the gut. How? How did that happen so fast? Some days I swear I can still feel the weight of his tiny newborn body curled up on my chest, all warmth and fragility and promise.
I see so much of Cole in him. His mischievous eyes, the way he crinkles his nose when he’s concentrating, even the stubborn line of his jaw when he’s determined to prove a point. But then there are moments, too, where I see me. The fierce loyalty. The need to understand everything. The quiet way he observes a room before deciding how to engage.
I love that. I love that he’s us. A blend of history and hope.
I pull into the school parking lot, tucking into my usual spot, and watch the flood of children spilling out of the building. Backpacks bobbing, shoes slapping pavement, voices rising into a cacophony of giggles and shouts and half-spoken stories.
And there he is.
Cohen. My lovebug.
His face is lit up like he just won a prize, and he’s jogging toward the car like his little legs can’t move fast enough. I roll down the window just in time to hear his breathless, “Hi, Mom!” before he hops into the car, still full of kinetic energy.
“Hey, lovebug,” I say as he climbs in. “How was school today?”
“Good! We did a science experiment. We made a volcano erupt, and I was the one to pour the baking soda in! I made it go big!” He’s practically bouncing in his seat, his voice bubbling over with excitement.
“That’s awesome! You’re a science genius now, huh?” I laugh, loving how his cheeks flush with pride.
“I’m gonna be a scientist when I grow up! But first, I need to have the best birthday ever!” he declares, puffing out his chest with mock seriousness.
I glance over at him, heart aching and full all at once. He doesn’t realize it, but this is what joy looks like. Raw, unfiltered. And I get to be the one who witnesses it every day.
“Well, speaking of that, what do you want to do for your birthday this year? You know it’s coming up soon.”
He pauses, thinking hard, his brow furrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest. Then suddenly, light breaks across his face.
“I want my birthday on the boat! With pizza and swimming in the lake! Can we do that, Mom?”
For a second, I just stare at him. The boat. Of course.
He’s always loved being on the water. It makes him feel free. Unbound. Like the world expands when he’s out there. I think it reminds him of flying, even though he’s never actually said it.
I think of the boat Cole surprised me with just a few weeksago—a gesture I still haven’t fully processed, not because of the size of the gift, but the meaning behind it.
A family thing. Our thing.
“That sounds like a great idea, Cohen,” I say slowly, letting my own excitement build. “We’ll see what we can do.”
He grins at me, a wide, excited smile. “It’s going to be awesome! And I also want a 3D printer! And a Nintendo Switch. Those are my two big wishes.”
I laugh, startled by his confidence. “Just two?”
“Well…and maybe a giant inflatable volcano,” he adds, grinning devilishly.
“Whoa, big dreams there,” I tease, glancing at him as I pull out of the school parking lot. “A 3D printer and a Switch? I’ll see what I can do, okay?”
“Okay! Thanks, Mom! You’re the best!”
I grin but say nothing, knowing this birthday might be even bigger than he expects. My heart tightens a little. It’s not just the party. It’s what we have to tell him tonight.
When we get home, I’m barely out of the car before my phone buzzes. I pull it out—of course. The sibling group chat is popping off.
Millie
Dinner tonight. Everyone at Mom and Dad’s at 6.
