He had a hunch that today would be the day - because the room I was admitted to two days earlier was LDR 8. And eight...well...it's just "his" number (as in like he may as well have invented it).
This past week I've closed my eyes nearly a hundred times and laid on the operating room table. But wait...I remember more. Like watching him suit up in navy blue disposable scrubs and an unsent text to co-workers and best friends that said, "It's Baby time! Today is his Birth Day! I love you all, and say a prayer, and I'll send pics later." We held hands while he prayed and cried through our tears and our nerves and our excitement. I've wrapped those cream-colored, five-pound, warmer-than-just-out-of-the-dryer blankets all over me. And I've felt the tugs and pushes and listened to a nurse say, "He saw six pounds a looooong time ago! (during an ultrasound done the day prior, he was predicted to weigh six pounds, six ounces) and listened to the sounds of his cry.
At exactly 9:09 this morning, he turned one. And I can promise you that today, I am on the world's top ten list of sappiest moms.
We've remembered. We've sang.
We've tied balloons to his crib.
We've painted his handprint at All Fired Up.
We've watched his fingers plunge into the icing on a cupcake topped with blue sprinkles.
And we've thanked God for the gift of him.
Happy Birthday, Baby of mine! I love you to the moon...and back!
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