April 11, 2012

a boy of seven years

Sometimes I think about my life before children.  What I think about most is how bored I must have been. 

Boredom ended in a delivery room in Lexington, KY, where my husband's quadriceps shook with fatigue from holding me up for hours on end.  Boredom ended in the afternoon of April 10th, 2005, when I pushed and hollered and joined the ranks of countless women, from Eve to the virgin Mary, to my own mother, who were forever changed by the arrival of their first child.

Now that wrinkled 6-lb bundle is old enough to read the newspaper.
Quirky and sweet, kind and deep, practical and aware, Bright Eugene.  You describe yourself as being "rather serious," after Otis from the movie Milo and Otis.  You make us laugh.  You pray over us and we cry.  Your little brain is full of such wisdom, your heart with such love, and such faith.  You could be anything, but I see you as a professor, or a pilot, or an author.  I know you'll be a wonderful husband, and I know your sons will look at you the way you and your brothers look at your dad.  You have added more joy to our lives in seven years than I imagined I would have in my lifetime.  Thank you for being you.

Your last evening as a six year old, you went to bed in tears, grieving the loss of the number 6 in your life.  Then you found comfort in the idea that you would meet up again with six when you turned 16 (your idea, not ours).  Your first day as a seven year old, you placed the candle from your birthday cake beside your plate and began talking to it.

"I'm getting to know Seven," you looked up and said to me, "to help me get over Six."

Oh how we love our precious boy. 

Happy 7th Birthday, Bright!!!!