Soni's Spark Shack

A love letter to my firstborn.

1989 was a year to remember. My tummy began to grow, and inside was a tiny soul. I didn’t know who you were yet—your likes, your smile, the sound of your laugh—but you made your presence known with every little kick and squirm, as if to say, “Hey, Mom, I’m here.”I used to sit for hours just watching you move inside my belly, amazed at the miracle happening within me. My tummy never grew too big—probably because I walked everywhere. Running became too uncomfortable, so walking was my escape. Every morning, I’d wander through the field behind my house, placing my hands on my belly, feeling you move, and smiling at the thought of finally meeting you. I was excited, yes—but also scared. Probably a feeling most first-time mothers feel.

Then came June 6th. At 2 a.m., I woke with contractions—today was the day. By 7:30 a.m., I knew it was time. After a quick shower, I headed to the hospital, where everything became a blur of chaos and emotion. The pain, the pushing, the overwhelming swirl of adrenaline. And then—you flew out, sunny side up. They placed you on a tiny cart, counted your fingers and toes, checked your breathing and heart. Then, in what I later learned was routine, they gently dropped your little body to see your reflexes. Your arms flew out in panic, and you cried—and oh, my heart ached. But then they wrapped you up, placed a tiny hat on your head, and put you in my arms.I stared at you in complete awe. I unwrapped you, counted everything again myself. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Your squished little face covered in fuzzy dark hair made me giggle. I touched your tiny hand, and you grabbed my finger. I teared up. That was the moment it hit me: You are mine. You are my baby boy.

You were so calm, and you fell asleep peacefully in my arms. From that moment on, I did my very best to raise you with compassion, to guide you through life, to hold your hand during the frustrating times and cheer you on through the victories. I remember all the long talks we had—just you and me—listening to music, sharing dreams. You’d talk about reptiles, skateboarding, BMX, your endless curiosity and energy. I never could have guessed who you’d become.

And look at you now. Do you ever step back and view your life in third person? I do, often. And I am in awe. I am overjoyed when I hear stories about your wine pairings, your culinary creations, your leadership. You are such a passionate, talented, and kind man. You resonate warmth and excitement. You are the best executive chef in Wyoming—and I say that not just as your mom, but as someone who knows brilliance when she sees it.I hope this next year is filled with continued growth, deeper joy, and more moments of wonder. I love you with all my heart, more than words can ever fully express.

Happy Birthday, Troy.

Love always,

Mom🥰