Today my baby turns 4. And I guess I can't really call him a baby, right?
Geez, I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. I remember the 15 hours of labor, the awful headaches and nausea from the meds I had to be on. I remember the epidural wearing off because my labor was going so long. I remember when I finally felt like I was ready to push. I remember feeling so overwhelmed once he finally arrived, all I could think about was how he was finally here, how I finally got to hold him. I remember how tiny he was, how short the first moments we had together were. I remember holding him for about 10 minutes before the nurses took him to the NICU, and then not being able to see him for 24 hours after he was born. I remember the morning after I delivered him, finally free of the meds, and able to see him in the NICU. I remember the 12 days he spent at the hospital where he was born. I remember having to go home at night without him, and feeling absolutely horrible for leaving him alone. I remember praying for him to get better, to eat more, to wake up and not be so sleepy all the time. I remember thinking about his head getting bigger and his face starting to look smaller. I remember his doctor being kind and asking me about him and if there was any news that day. I remember his doctor finding the results of an ultrasound they did on him that morning and then being told he had to be transferred to the Children's Hospital nearby, for a longer stay, and possibly surgery. I remember staying at the Children's hospital with him for another week before we could go home. I remember every surgery he's had, how old he was when he sat up, how old he was when first pulled himself up, how old he was when he first walked...
I see how much he's grown, how much he's accomplished, how smart he is, and I am amazed that God would even bless me with such a gift.
Happy Birthday to my sweet boy. I love you a whole bunch of woo woo woo!