Eight years ago, I thought for sure I would starve before labor was complete.
Eight years ago, I anxiously awaited my new little boy.
Eight years ago, I gave birth to my sweet son, E.
My biggest child, he weighed in at a whopping 7 pounds even.
He arrived early on a Sunday morning, and was followed by not one, but two dinner trays. (My experience with his labor means that I am forever the woman who will sneak you food when you are in labor. Sorry, Mama M., but I nearly killed the woman who asked me if the Jell-O took the edge off the fact I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours. I was ready to eat her firstborn!)
He was my first run-in with jaundice. And a heart murmur. He showed up early, and got to hang out with the girls at my baby shower.
His brother was pretty excited to have a new baby brother. His dad was pretty happy about it, too.
Now he’s eight. He’s a second grader. He’s smart, and funny, and sweet.
That includes him.
Goofy to the max, he’s all boy.
And all mine.
Happy Birthday, E. Thank you for the last eight years. Here’s to eighty more.
Your mom since 09/09/2002,