He was born at 3:59 p.m., weighing in at 7 pounds, 9 ounces, 19 inches long. He had some wispy newborn hair which he subsequently lost, plus a bruise in the shape of the doctor's thumb on his forehead. Not to mention what we thought up until a year ago was a broken collarbone. (Now we know his clavicle just didn't form quite right inside me. Sorry, buddy.)
When he came out, Steven lapsed into slack-jawed silence. I shed a couple of tears as I got just the briefest glimpse of him before they whisked him off to clean him up and make sure he was breathing all right (meconium aspiration).
And then they brought him back to me, swaddled and wearing the ubiquitous newborn cap to cover his little conehead, and he opened his eyes and I saw that they were the size of dinner plates, even then, five minutes after birth. And I wanted to protect him forever.
These days I'm still his fiercest protector, his biggest fan, his strongest advocate ... even on the days when it feels like all I say is "shhh," and "no, you can't," and "go play outside for a while."
I love his mop of blond hair (and no, I don't know how Steven and I keep creating these towheaded children), his willful determination, his perpetual use of the word "actually." I love his boundless loyalty, his kind heart, his empathy for people, animals, bugs, and inanimate objects alike. I love that the first time we went to Pump It Up he sat at the top of the big slide for 20 minutes because he abjectly refused to let anyone force him to do something he wasn't ready to do. I love how he loves his baby sister, whose reciprocated adoration is magnified and amplified into something like hero worship. I love how he wants to be just like his dad and his assertion that he'll always be my baby (though I'm not supposed to tell anyone that).
He's already had his birthday party, complete with six cousins, four friends, four grandparents, two aunts, and lots of backyard splashing, plus pizza, an exceptionally tough pinata, and a baseball diamond birthday cake.
To mark the "real" occasion, we're going easy. He got cake for breakfast (you're only 6 once!), a replacement balloon for the one that met with tragedy when a sweet little cousin accidentally let go of the string, and a bonus gift from his grandparents. Tonight he has requested a trip to the pool and a Happy Meal for dinner.
And at 3:59, I'm going to give him a big hug and spend a minute remembering the day we met.
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