Happy 7th Birthday To My Son

It was a very mild December in 2003. Or maybe it felt that way because I was heavy with pregnancy and hormones which kept me toasty.

December 22nd. I had Taco Bell. Burrito Supreme, minus tomato and onion with extra sour cream. An addiction left over from post bar, late night food runs in college.

I went for a walk with my neighbor after dinner, wearing only sweats and a light jacket. Come to think of it, it wasn’t so mild out, I was just always schvitzy. Anyways, I walked a block when I felt the baby drop which was shocking because I had been walking around for the majority of the last part of my pregnancy with his head hanging out of my vagina. I LITERALLY could feel the top of his head, assuming I stuck my finger inside to check. And yes, I did. It was the first contact I had with my unborn baby, as sick as that sounds. And no, I didn’t do it more than once because that’s just nasty.

ANYWHOO…

Thursday night. I remember this night so well because it was a typical evening of my husband watching WWE or whatever stupid wrestling garbage was on the television. The kids were in bed and I feel asleep on this purple leather couch I had transplanted from my ex marriage to this current one.

I heard a pop. Or maybe I felt this pop.

It was familiar, the same thing had happened in March of 1998.

I jumped up as fast as a ginormously pregnant woman can, and I ran to the bathroom which was across the hall from the living room.

My water broke. Everywhere.

Not even close to a trickle that everyone says usually happens. Nope, this was the second time my water exploded tsunami style.

It was a little after ten pm.

He was born 13 hours of no labor, induced labor, almost emergency c-section, on all fours with butt crack exposed for the entire hospital staff to see, finally…labor, 3 pushes later on December 23rd at 11:26 am.

A head FULL of orange hair. A nose smushed against his face. Eyes swollen shut.

8 pound, 2 ounces of perfection bundled in a standard hospital blankie.

Seven years ago today.

I held this baby that I never thought I’d have in my arms while he tried to nurse from my nose, my cheek and my chai necklace. We got it right though, he ended up finding the correct place to latch on and never stopped for seven months.

Today, he is 7.

My baby.

My little boy who makes me smile. Who I make smile. Such a Momma’s boy and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

To my darling son. From the minute I found out I was pregnant with you, you made me complete.

You make me proud.

You make me smile and laugh.

You make me scream in frustration.

You make me a mommy.

I love you. So much.

May your life be filled with smiles and laughter.

Happy 7th birthday to my youngest child who, no matter how old you get, you’ll always and forever be my baby.
XO,
Mommy

omg, I can’t believe how old he is. sniffle.

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