It was just a minute ago that it "was time." Holding my throbbing back and reaching for the phone to call my husband, I knew that I needed to get to the hospital. It seems like yesterday that I dug my fingers into the dashboard and clenched my teeth through contractions as we raced down every road. Getting there, waiting, only to find out that the doctor we had grown to know over the past nine months was on vacation. Yes, vacation.
How can it be nine years since another doctor, a man we had never even met before, walked into our delivery room, wearing his scrubs and a pair of cowboy boots...real, true, cowboy boots. Giddy up.
108 months ago on this day, I grabbed onto bed rails, pushed with every ounce of my being for hours and brought our little one into the world. I had never known such a feeling before that second in time.
He is nine years old. How can that be?
We had a party with our friends and family to celebrate his birthday tonight. It started out at our neighborhood pool but was quickly redirected to our home by way of a thunderstorm. It turned out to be one of the best times, which is often the case with most unexpected things.
At the end of the day, we tucked him in and whispered "Happy Birthday" one last time. "Mommy? Daddy?" "Yes Buddy." "Thanks for my Birthday. It was my favorite one I've had so far out of all nine."
"You're welcome Buddy. We Love You. Good night."
Nine years. How can he still do that to my heart...in every single day? Happy Birthday, Little Man.