A letter.

Five years ago tomorrow, I woke up with a start at 6:30am. I wondered if I was possibly in labor, dinked around our apartment, showered and wondered if it was The Day. 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant, I was afraid to get my hopes up. I called a friend at 9am, she said she was even in town and that she would take my girls. Managers of an apartment complex, we had an appointment with the constable to do a lock-out on a non-paying tenant that morning at 11am. Surely we had time.

By the time the constable was finished and gone, I was quite certain it was going to be a birth day for our third child. We headed to the hospital an hour away, stopping along the way to get bagels, sure it was going to be a long (food-free, once admitted to the hospital) day. While Blaine was in the bagel shop, the first hard contraction hit and I was suddenly quite glad we were on our way. We got to the hospital around 1pm, and about three hours later, our first son made his appearance. At 9 lbs. 2 oz., there was a lot to him.

At 7 months old, we found out he was to be a big brother. At 12 months, he crawled for the first time. At 19 months, he began walking. At 4, he got a little brother. Always careful, waiting to be sure of himself, he’s quite the boy. He dresses to match his daddy, desires real tools for his birthday – none of this plastic stuff he’s been dealing with up to now. He’s recently discovered tree climbing, loves fences and fixing things and excels at math.

He loves to blame things on his sisters and defends them when someone else tries to pick on them. We’re working on his habit of leaving household chores up to his sisters. It’s a slow process. He leaves his shoes everywhere and always seems to think I should know where they are when he wants them. He loves to talk his sisters into doing his jobs. He’s pretty convincing. He wants to be a helicopter pilot when he grows up. He also wants to grow sugar. He really likes sugar.

My oldest son kissed me tonight, the last kisses he’ll give me as a four year old. After confirming that I love five year olds too, he told me not to be too sad. Someday he’ll be forty, and that has a four in it too. He promised me he’ll still kiss me when he’s fourteen too. I told him I was going to write that down, so he wouldn’t forget. He says he won’t, but I’m writing it down anyway.

Happy birthday, dear son. I love you more than life itself.

Love,

Momma