Isaiah: 6
At this exact moment six years ago I was listening to my doctor say in a totally annoying serene voice, “Ok, Nancy, I need you to keep pushing, can you give me one more push?” Oh, I’ll give you one more push, lady. I remember looking at Jason with the crazy eyes and saying in an urgent half scream, half whisper, “I can feel MY BONES MOVING.”
But then, of course, there he was. Isaiah. I remember my very first thought was, “He’s not bald?” Jason and I are not hairy people and Gryffin didn’t have a lick of hair until his first birthday. So who was this?
It was Isaiah in all his Isaiah-ness. The boy who has gone from being my laid-back baby to my easy-going guy. The boy who has never met a berry he didn’t like but doesn’t care for birthday cake. The boy who gives “morning hugs” and “lunch-time hugs” and “I just got home from school hugs.”
The one who wants to be a dancer when he grows up even though he can’t dance (I know, bless his heart). The one who dreams of jetpacks and flying and love tornados. The one who asks for breakfast in bed and his own knife to chop the garlic.
The one who almost drowned last January. I usually feel quite a bit of melancholy mixed in with the joy and excitement of the boys’ birthdays but this year I feel a more keen sense of gratefulness than anything else. I’m so glad we got another birthday. I’m so glad he’s still here. I’m so glad, I’m so glad, I’m so glad. Happy Birthday, Bup. You could not be more loved.