Four years and four hours ago your daddy and I welcomed you into this world. After a scheduled inducement where you broke my water the morning of anyway, we headed to the hospital bright and early for a day full of labor. No one was going to tell you when to come into this world.
I, with no intention of being a hero for anyone, took the epidural as soon as I was allowed. I’d had kidney stones a few months prior, and I was in no mindset for anything like that again. A twelve hour day commenced with two hours of pushing, and you were finally here. At about this time (10 p.m.), we were probably moved into our own room, had had a small visit with some family members and had tried some breastfeeding, which was proving tricky. I kept you in the room with daddy and me that night, and we didn’t get a lot of sleep. That was to be a trend for us, but I had no idea at that time.
Now, four years later, here we are. My first baby growing up so quickly, and while I yearn for your independence at times, I mourn it as well. When I held you in my arms last night before bed, I put down my three-year-old. And today, you are my four-year-old, already able to write your’s and your sister’s names, riding your big wheel bike like a bat outta hell, and drawing figures that are straight out of your incredible imagination. You’re so smart, spirited, fearless to stand up for what you think is right in your world, mischievous, playful and a million other qualities.
You’re four. And you’re only going to get bigger. And when I tell you that while I’m so happy for you to have a birthday, and we try to make it oh-so-special, it’s so sad for me at the same time, what do you do? You tell me, ” I will always be your baby. I will always hold your hand. And I will always sit beside you.” “Always and forever?” I reply as I always do when we exchange these kinds of words. “Mmmm hmm” you assure me as you cuddle up with Giraffey in your bed.
Mommy plans to hold you to that promise.
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