At this very moment, 4 years ago, I was resting after becoming a mom a mere 3 hours earlier. I remember every second of that day, the smells of the hospital, the sounds of the machines, the jokes from my doctor, and the ear piercing screams of my first baby boy. I cried my heart out when I first held him and some nights I still feel like I could cry my heart out when he cuddles up next to me while I read to him and whispers, “mom, you’re my favorite.”
Four years ago today, I became the best person I could ever be. Four year ago today, my husband and I grew closer than either of us had ever thought possible. I remember how we both sat in awe over this tiny creature that slept peacefully nuzzled up in my arms. We were mesmerized with him, in love him, and over the moon happy. We kept asking how God had graced us with such a wonderful gift. He was truly ours, we had created him.
We’ve had four years of some of the greatest love two people could ever experience. We’ve had four years of Davey, and a lifetime still to go.
I’ve found myself over the course of the past week, leading up to his birthday, reminiscing about the past four years. Facebook memories have popped up, enabling me to saturate my timeline with little milestones in the life of Davey and our journey down parenthood lane. Some days I’ve found myself shaking my head at how much he’s grown. I think back to the first nights being home with him, and how I’d never had such small amounts of sleep. I chuckle as I think back to how in my moments of sleep depravity, accused my husband of trying to “steal” Davey from me.
My heart melts when I see the video of him taking his first steps, or exclaiming with such certainty that “I can read”, at a mere two years of age. I cry when I think of the weeks when he was just two months old and suffered through a severe bout of eczema. The poor little thing looked as if he were infected with the plague and unfortunately everyone treated him that way. Of course, being the extremely happy and lovable baby he was (and boy he still is), he smiled at everyone even as they flinched when looking at him. Me? I wanted to smack them all upside the face, berate them and make them feel guilty for looking at my baby that way.
As I sit here writing this blog, I’m inundated with pictures on my digital picture frame. Photos of Davey apple picking with his daddy, watching the parade of elephants for the circus, holding his baby brother for the first time, kissing Dixie, and playing in the sand with Henry. I’m fighting away tears and trying to tear through the knot that has formed in my throat. My God, I am the luckiest woman alive and I am so thankful for what He and Davey did for me…they made me a mom.
Every year on his birthday, while putting him to bed, I defer to a different story…the story of his birth. At first, it started out sweet and quiet, as a sort of lullaby to nudge him off to sleep, but as the years have progressed him in age, they’ve become a bit more interactive. This year, I continued along with the story of his birth and for the first time, he was able to tell it with me, and even asked questions along the way.
“mommy, were you happy when I was borned?” Yes, he said “borned”.
“I was over the moon happy.”
“Was daddy happy?”
“He was over the moon happy. And wanna know what else, Davey? Mommy and daddy are still over the moon happy.”
I don’t think I can ever verbally convey what Davey has done for me. I don’t even think putting it in the written word will truly do it justice. I am better because of what happened four years ago. I am who I was always meant to be. And so every birthday, after telling his birth story, I kiss my son good night and I tell him “thank you.”
I can’t believe four years have already passed. I’m anxious to see what the future holds, but what I wouldn’t give for that time machine to take me back.
The happiest of birthdays my sweet, sweet boy, my first born, the one who made me a mom.