Leo turns 4 soon. A look back at the scars of his arrival, the lessons of fatherhood, and the gratitude I carry for the version of the story that gave us him.

In 77 days you turn 4 years old and here’s how I feel about that…

I sat with your godfather Scott just the other morning. It was early and you were off nursery that day due to your second round of an ear infection. So we spent the day together, but first we got coffee. You somehow twisted his arm into buying you a cinnamon swirl and a matcha cookie - neither of which you had tried before, but you seemed convincing in your argument, so he got you both. 

You’ve always had this way of getting what you want. Me and your mum always used to say to each other, that if you weren’t so cute and loveable, it would be easier to say no to you in those situations. You’ve certainly been blessed with some genetic advantages, and as your dad I couldn't be happier about it. Let’s keep that between us… 

The last 4 years have been rich in life. Your arrival into our world forced significant changes, but all for the better. My entry into being a father was sudden, intense, at times lonely and exposing, but it taught me a hell of a lot about what being a man really is. What it means to hold together as a family unit. As I write to you now from the white sofa in the front room, beneath the bedroom where you and mum are snoozing right now, I have more clarity on who I am in this world, what my purpose and priorities are, and where I'm heading. It all leans towards you. You are my IKIGAI, my reason, my why, my north star, my centre point. 

Everything that has happened over your 4 years, despite the challenges and obstacles we’ve met on the way, would I change it? Some of the gritty detail maybe, definitely some of the suffering on your mummy's part, but on the whole, perhaps not. Our story might not have been easy, but one day I hope you’ll see how many people found HOPE in what we went through together. 

Even though it’s 4 years on from being in the eye of the storm, let's say, it may sound like a long time, or enough time to let go and move past any pain still felt in the heart. But in truth, I still struggle to even drive past the hospital you were born in. I still struggle seeing new born babies just days old, in the park with their mums who are up and about, walking, living life normally and enjoying the new mum phase to the full. Your friend Charlie, my godson - when he was born, in the same hospital in Chelsea and Westminster, I smiled with happiness when I saw the photo of him just seconds old lying on his mummy's chest, but beneath that smile your dad felt sadness. Sadness that we couldn't have experienced that version. But then I look at you, so wonderful in every way and I realise that our version gave us you. And that I wouldn't change for anything.  

Always, 

Daddy

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Until next letter

Ryan Libbey