My son, The Jedi, is going to be three years old, in 8 days. One week and a day. 193 hours and 23 minutes. I remember giving birth to him like it was yesterday.....I remember being pregnant with him like it was last week. My huge, round belly growing and growing to the point I thought it would never stop. I remember sitting on the couch, watching Law and Order SVU marathons because I was too huge to do anything else, feeling my little boy squirming inside my belly and waiting anxiously for him to arrive. Tiny would kiss my belly goodnight, read it stories and tell her brother how much she loved him all the time. She was so excited to have a brother.
I remember when we went for our ultrasound to determine the sex, I had secretly suspected-no, known, I had known in my heart all along that I was having a son, and hadn't said a word to anyone. The doctor turned to Tiny and asked before turning on the machine if he was going to find her little sister in there, or her little brother. She very confidently, and in true Tiny fashion said "A little brother! Of course." And sure enough, we were both right.
My labor with The Jedi took 19 hours, and it was hard. Pitocin, artificial rupture of membranes, internal fetal monitoring and being confined to my bed for the entire thing. The moment he came into the world, it was all worth it.
I love watching my kids grow up. Get bigger, learn more and more words, become more self sufficient and come into their own as people. It really fascinates me how babies have a personality all their own from the moment they're born, and watching that develop is a gift I am not worthy of having. But still, it makes me sad. I know that not so long from now I will be dropping him off for his first day of Jr. High. I will be driving him to pick up his first date. I will be getting him his first cell phone, and finding out he has a girlfriend, and hoping he's smart and doesn't make the mistakes his father and I made, and hoping he's a good man and treats women well, and hoping he's safe when he goes to a party, and wishing he was my little chubby 2 year old that loves sitting in my lap, and tells me to "Hab a goo day Mama" when I drop him off at preschool.
Time is flying, right past my eyes, and everyday, as the sun goes down, as my kids march off to bed, I wish that I could hold onto them, just the way they are now, for a little longer. Not forever, but for a little longer.
I find myself praying almost everyday, begging God or the Universe or whoever, to let me remember this moment. Remember that smile The Jedi just gave me because he learned to buckle his own shoes, or remember the way Tiny looked as she ran toward me when she got out of school. Or the way my babies smell asleep in their beds with dreams behind their sweet eyelids, and a whole world out there waiting for them. I hope I can remember every moment. But I know I won't. I wish I could be the perfect mom, but I know I'm not. I just hope my babies grow up knowing how much I love them. And what they meant to me from the moment they were born.
Please God, let me remember this moment. The Jedi playing on the floor and talking to his imaginary friend. Just 8 days before this little man turns 3. Please let me remember this. And every moment before and after.
Happy birthday son. I love you bigger than anyone.
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