Last night on the phone, Aunt Joni and I texted about the night you were born. It was she, not daddy, who got me into the operating room to have the c-section I couldn’t wrap my head around. You were upside down (maybe you had a tequila?) and although my doctor assured me for the whole pregnancy that you’d come out of there naturally, naturally you weren’t having it. Nope, you needed to make a grander entrance (or maybe you were just lounging in there and didn’t want to make your way down the birth canal, instead taking the easier path of having the doctors go in there and get you–so much less work on your part–how you is that).
I told them I’d just stay in labor, that I was doing fine with my breathing and I could just stick it out for days, but what they were trying to tell me, was that your position made it so that you couldn’t come out, unless they did surgery. I didn’t really get it, and Daddy was busy walking up and down the hallway, nervous you were not going to be ok, even though you weren’t in distress. And so it was Aunt Joni who looked me square in the eyes and said, “YOU HAVE TO HAVE C-SECTION. YOU HAVE TO DO IT NOW,” and I was all like, “Oh, ok. Alright, let’s go.”
They brought you right up to my face to meet me. I was falling asleep, but I thought, “Look, we made a person.” I had never, and will never do anything as amazing (except for when I had your sister). The whole idea of creating a person in your body is just Twilight Zone whacko. I did it and I still can’t believe it.
And what a person. You have a special magic about you. You have a s soulful sweetness, an inner thoughtfulness, a forgiving nature that makes you undeniably lovable. You are goodness and charm. You are true.
I have said it all before, and I will say it until the end of time: you are special, a really special person, and to tell you how proud I am of you and how much I love you, I’d need many more than just 26 letters.
Happy birthday to my boy.
*the gratitude-a-thon 