Nicole Johnson

August 20, 2019—a day already full of aches.
Forty-one weeks and six days of waiting.
Tired. Cranky. Sore in places I didn’t know could be sore.
You were on your own timeline—and I was very much not invited to the planning meeting.

But then you came.
And everything in me exhaled.

You were my firstborn.
My little lion, bold even in the womb.
Due on the 15th, but claimed the 20th like a king—
mane still growing, roar pending,
but already ruling the room.

When I saw you—with your full face, your perfect lips, your daddy’s everything else—
I knew I’d just created the best part of me.

The early days were easy.
You slept through the night on Day 3.
(Yes, we had help. Yes, I absolutely took it.)
You arrived calm, curious, already gentle with the world.

That never changed.

You ask questions like you’re trying to solve life early.
You want to grow up overnight—just to be like your big brother.
You help. You notice. You remember every step of our routines and call me out when I don’t.
You care—with your whole, soft, steady heart.

Grayson, you’re my mini me in soul,
your daddy’s twin in face,
and fully, fiercely yourself in every way.

You’ve loved Spider-Man and Pikachu like they were family.
Two superhero parties in a row—because once clearly wasn’t enough.
And the meltdowns? Iconic.
You’d strip down in protest, storming off half-naked.
We’d whisper, “Uh oh, the Hulk is coming,”
or “The werewolf’s out again…”
It was hilarious. And very, very real.

But now…
you’re choosing clothes carefully.
You worry about getting teased.
And that shift—it shook me.

Because I see you noticing the world.
And I just want it to be kind to you.

This year, you became a big brother.
And just like a lion, you protect your pride.
You finished kindergarten.
You stood in front of a crowd and sang eight songs about butterflies—
tiny wings, big courage.

I’ve never been more proud.
Not because it was perfect—
but because you did it. You showed up. You tried.
You let your roar be soft, and it was still strong.

You’ve taught me that memories don’t need to be curated to be beautiful.
That joy can live in mess.
That the best moments are rarely planned.

Grayson, you are growing into someone thoughtful, funny, kind—
and brave in all the quiet, mighty ways.

Happy sixth birthday, my beautiful boy.
Thank you for choosing your moment.
Thank you for choosing me first.

Love always,
Mom