What a crazy journey this has been. Motherhood has been so kind to me and yet so unforgiving and relentless at the same time.

There are moments in my life — little slices of time, rather, that I will never forget. The first (and only) time I was sent to the principal’s office. Sleeping on the floor of the bus for marching band. Being married and sealed to Tyler. Being in labor with Jack. Hearing Amelia’s awful diagnosis while she kicked inside of me. Hearing Jack speak a two-word phrase for the first time. Watching Amelia die in my arms.

Two months ago I experienced another snippet of my life I’ll never forget — we sat in the ophthalmologist room and learned about Owen’s albinism. I left there confused and scared, not knowing whether the baby in my arms would ever see at all.

I remember crying the entire week prior to that appointment. I slept about three or four restless hours every night leading up to our appointment. I knew something was wrong with his eyes, but I didn’t know what. Don’t they tell you the worst part is not knowing?

And then we finally knew, but there was nothing we could do. It’s a waiting game, and you hope it gets better.

This week, it did. Owen can finally see me.

I cried the first time it happened, and I’ve been in tears ever since. Every single time my baby sees me I just can’t even hold it the joy I feel. (And he can’t either! Words cannot even describe our delight.) It’s a moment that when we lock eyes, still feels like the first time, every time. Sight is something I will never, ever take for granted.

We’ve tried our best to treat Owen like a normal baby (because he is!) but there are also exceptions to the rule. He doesn’t see as well as other kids. He can’t see you smiling at him from the pew behind us. He won’t laugh when you stick your tongue out at him and make a silly face. And all of these are still true today. He’s the same and yet so different than other babies.

But at almost 5 months old, now he sees me, he knows me, and he loves me. He reaches out his big bear paw hands and grabs a hold of my face to give me the drooliest open-mouth kiss. And if I’m really close (and have a bit of luck on my side), he’ll catch my eye and smile at me. He sees me smile back at him, and that makes him start to giggle. It turns out he’s just as excited as I am to have a friend.

Do you think Jesus wept tears of joy along with the people he healed? I didn’t even heal Owen but I feel like I’m experiencing just a sliver of that joy that Jesus might have felt as the bystander to a miracle. It still amazes me every. single. time. There are tender mercies every single day with this kid. Just when I don’t think he can, he proves me wrong.

These moments are so delicate and sacred to me. I feel so blessed and humbled that I get to experience Owen’s milestones from such a unique perspective. They aren’t always on time like they “should” be, but when they do come I can tell you they are TEN TIMES SWEETER.

(I’m not the best at recording Owen’s milestones here on the blog…can I blame it on his 45-minute naps? But I make sure each and every one is on my instagram — follow me @delightedtobe, or click on the camera logo on the left side of my blog.)

stats | 17lbs(?), 27″

sleep | you still sleep all night long, from 7pm to 7am. We dream feed you around 10:30pm and I love the extra cuddle time. :) You did go through a period (and are just coming out of it still) where you woke up at 4am and talked to yourself for a good two hours! Loud, loud talking. You are a lot more vocal than I’d like you to be in the wee hours of the morning but usually a binky quiets you down for a bit until it’s time to eat at 7am. Naps…eh, we’re getting there. You still prefer 45-minute naps most days, and I prefer 2-hour naps. So we’re meeting in the middle somewhere. On the days when you actually take solid 2-hour naps, you only take one morning and one afternoon nap. On the days when you catnap, it’s a little crazy. Working on it!

eat | HOLY GROWTH SPURT! You are 27″, did we mention that? You’re in 12 month clothes, and they aren’t baggy on you. But I still call you “little Owen”. We’ve tried to feed you some solids. The first night you couldn’t quite get the hang of the rice cereal, but still wanted more and more. And every time we’ve tried since then you aren’t interested. Your body is too big to sleep soundly without the help of solids, but it’s also not ready developmentally. We’re excited for when you can see better because maybe then you’ll want real foods like avocado and banana. We spaced your feedings out to 4 hours apart during the day, with a 6-oz bottle. (This is especially exciting because Jack never, ever went 4 hours no matter how hard I tried.)

play | you still love kisses. You love being gently tossed in the air, and snuggled on our shoulder. Holding hands with you never gets old. You are barely starting to see things – the lights on your play gym, the zig-zags on the rug, and maybe the toys dangling from your play gym. But definitely not people yet, although you always smile when you hear your brother Jack close by. I’m kind of in a rough spot right now because I don’t know what you want to do – you’re getting bored of the play gym but don’t seem ready for anything else because of your low vision. You try to escape from the bumbo, and you can’t see toys when we put them in your hands. We have a vision specialist named Meryl that will come regularly starting this next week, and so we will see what toys she brings and how she helps you play. This is so new for us and I’m trying to treat you like a normal baby, but we are also finding there are areas where you are definitely an exception to the rule!

Owen, you are the most easy-going baby. Grammy thought we were lucky because Jack was a piece of cake, but you are even more easy-going than he was! You are a delight to be around and are generally very well behaved, even if it’s a little past feeding time and I need to run just one more errand.

It brings tears to my eyes to see you get so excited over little things like seeing lights. It puts the warmest smile on my face when I see you smile when I kiss your cheeks. I hope you understand that even with your albinism, I am doing the best I can to help you grow and develop just like every other kid. You’re different, and have so many challenges already. But you’ll be stronger for it. Love you, little Owen.