Three words together.
My heart could burst.
"Raining. Daddy. 'Brella."
Oh the prayers that have covered his lips and tongue.
The pleading I've done with God to hear his voice.
The thoughts birthed in his brain,
etched on his heart,
seemingly stuck like glue to the back of his throat.
They're coming.
Baker is leading our happy dancing and keeps saying, "'Mommy, proud. Daddy, happy."
"Yes we are, Buddy.
So proud of you.
Every single day happy you are ours."
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