First Birthday

Two days ago, our baby turned one. I cannot even believe how fast this year has flown. Because his birth was a scheduled c-section, it was a very calm morning, arriving at the hospital with grandparents already in town and big kids at school.  I do remember as the anasthesia was kicking in and I felt all out of whack on the operating table, I started crying, and said to my husband, "Remind me not to do this again!"

"Are you hearing what you are saying as our baby is about to be born?" he said.  Uh, yes. Excited about the baby, not the surgery.

A few minutes later, as the doctors took our little guy from my tummy, they said, "A big boy!" 

(I need to preface with the fact that I have big babies. Our first son was 10 1/2 pounds, and our "tiny baby girl" was 8 1/2.)

"He's not that big, honey; he's not that big.  He's beautiful," said my husband. He was 9 pounds. And truly gorgeous. 

The first time I saw him... that moment of recognition, the tears of awe, the exhaustion and almost confusion of his being ours, the snug bundle of blankets and tight hospital cap and t-shirt, tucked right in my arms, those squinty eyes and puckered lips, then the surrender of sleep.  A miracle.

A week ago, as he toddled down the hallway one morning in his monkey footie pajamas, our five-year-old said, "Mom, he's not a baby anymore."

"No! Don't say it!" I pleaded.  "He'll always be our baby.  Won't he?"

"No," he answered wisely.  "He's a little little little boy."