The other night as I was tucking my babes into bed, my "almost" four year old reached up and asked,
"Rock you, momma?" I just blinked for a second - he never asks for this. My husband overheard
the tiny request and gently nudged me, "you better rock your three year old while you can."
I drew him, and that tattered and worn Mickey Mouse blanket he cannot sleep without, close to me.
I took a deep breath, drinking him all in. He doesn't smell like "baby" anymore, but a strange scent
of apple slices, earth, and sweaty-from-baseball fills my nostrils. I don't want to forget.
His legs have tiny hairs, his eyes are decidedly chocolate brown, doe-like, and the baby fat has given
form to a lanky, energetic BOY. He's still small enough to need momma, but big enough to be daddy's
"little man." His feet still remind me of the Flinstones - wide, square, sweet and his hands are always
sticky, eager to try new things - determined to do big things. I think his favorite word is "dude" and
that his secret wish is that every day would be full of surprises. He will take "red" over any other color
and when given a special treat he shouts: "Happy Sunday!" - even if it's not Sunday.
In moments when things are most focused on him, he stops and thinks of other people -
most often his best man, Judah. For this birthday this year he asked for a fishing pole, but
made sure to ask for two - one for his brother too. How can you tell a heart so big "no"?
There are TWO fishing poles waiting to be unwrapped today. Their delight is mine.
He was the baby that doctors said would not survive my womb.
Four years later, I still believe in miracles.
I'm thankful for every day we get to spend together this side of heaven.
He's taught me to believe a little deeper
hope a little longer
love a little harder!
In the words of Isaiah, "It's a happy day."
Happy birthday, beautiful boy!!!
We love you. Let's celebrate.