However, things changed quickly. As afternoon rolled around it appeared I would not have to spend another day quite so rotund. We were settled in at the hospital by about 3 pm and you made your appearance an hour and a half later. All of the shocking 8 lbs. 5 oz. that you were--still holding the record for all my babies. Daddy was incredibly excited to meet his first boy. And all in all you were my best labor to date.
Your sisters adored you and you fit right in--you were a good baby and an easy adjustment to three children. And that was your first half year of life. Normal, sweet and rosy-hued.
And then came my brain tumor diagnosis, which really sliced it's way through life as we knew it. I'll never forget saying good-bye to you, nursing you for what would be the last time. I'll never forget seeing you for the first time after two weeks away. Going back to those moments still has the power to undo me.
But everything was okay, and life went on, and you kept growing and growing, until you looked like this:
Which still makes me laugh. You are my only claim to fame when it comes to a baby with some girth to him. You make your siblings look rather malnourished in comparison.
You have been my most challenging child and yet fascinating and delightful. Daily, you make me laugh with something you say or do, or one of your "notions." You baffle me at times. You make me keep stretching and growing and learning, just so I can figure out what makes you tick. You are maddening. You are hilarious. And you really, really love me. And I really, really love you. I can't believe you're already four and yet somehow it feels you have been a part of our lives for so much longer than that.