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Jim took a deep breath, pulled himself together, then continued with his speech.

As I glanced out at the hundreds of fans who had come to witness this monumental day for Jim and the Buffalo Bills organization, I was moved. It was such a tribute to Jim and all that he had done for the franchise. He had accomplished so much and given all he had to the team and its dedicated fans—and they knew it.

The tears were many that day, yet our family had much to look forward to. We had retirement plans, which sounded very strange because Jim was still in his thirties and I was just twenty-seven. And in spite of the sense of loss we felt at leaving football, our sorrow and uncertainty were countered by the excitement of expecting our second child, who would be arriving in two short weeks.

I knew exactly what would ease Jim’s heartache at giving up the game he loved: telling him that he was about to hold the son he had always wanted. I had made the decision to surprise him and keep it a secret. I couldn’t wait to place our baby boy in those strong, battle-scarred hands that had held a football for so long.

With our first baby, Erin Marie, we had found out in advance that we were expecting a girl, but the second time around we had decided to wait—or at least Jim thought we had. Are you kidding me? I couldn’t bear not knowing, so when Jim couldn’t make it to one of my routine sonograms, I seized the opportunity to find out for myself. When the doctor told me she saw a little something extra between the baby’s legs, I could hardly contain myself. We were going to have the son my husband had longed for!

I’d been hoping for a boy for Jim’s sake. He came from a family of six boys and no girls, so you can imagine the pressure. Jim’s younger brother Danny was soon to have his first child. Two of Jim’s older brothers also had boys, as did Danny’s twin, Kevin. So, naturally, the NFL superstar in the family was expected to have a boy, too.

The anticipation was excruciating. I wanted to tell Jim so badly because he was deeply wounded about retiring, and—as tough as he was—the pain of the decision was obvious. Still, to my amazement, I managed to keep quiet those final two weeks.

Then, early in the morning on February 14, 1997—Valentine’s Day—my water broke and the contractions began. They intensified during the thirty-minute ride to the hospital, making it seem as though the drive took hours. One thing was on my mind: getting that child out of my dreams and into my arms.

As soon as we walked through the emergency room doors at the hospital, a nurse helped me into the nearest wheelchair, and off we went. I received a routine epidural as my contractions intensified. Thankfully, my labor only lasted a few hours, and even though my focus was on pushing, I was eager to see Jim’s reaction once he saw our son.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor exclaimed.

Jim’s response was priceless: he shouted over and over, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!” Although my mind and body were spent, waves of joy filled my heart as I watched Jim erupt with excitement and pride. As family quarterback, Jim was the MVP. He’d remained by my side during the entire delivery, making sure all the right plays were called to address my every need. Jim witnessed the entire birth, cut the umbilical cord, and supervised every move the doctors and nurses made. Now, after a quick kiss on my forehead, he was out the door to grab my parents, who were patiently waiting in the hall. Tears of joy streamed down my face. “Daddy’s little boy is finally here.”

My mom and dad walked into the room, smiling from ear to ear. “I can’t believe it’s a boy,” Mom said as she leaned over to hug me. My dad stood close by and just shook his head, stammering, “Wow.” Jim couldn’t sit still, so he followed the doctors over to the table where they weighed our son and performed all the newborn baby procedures mothers are usually too wiped out to pay attention to.

After an uneventful pregnancy and fairly easy delivery, the son that Daddy had always dreamed of—the baby destined to be an NFL protégé—finally arrived