Eight years ago today, almost to the very minute, I was in the hospital six weeks earlier then planned having an emergency c-section. Daddy was there too, and he gave me a play by play of the whole procedure.* My doctor held you over the divider sheet after he pulled you out and you dripped goo all over my face, which still makes me laugh.
You were a tiny thing - only 4.7 lbs - and you looked like a tiny alien. They immediately whisked you away to NICU and stuck you full of tubes and needles, and sent me to another floor entirely for recovery. The next day I was finally able to get up and see you for the second time, and after our visit I came back to my room and sobbed. Your birth was not at all what I envisioned, and we were so worried about you being born early. You spent your first two weeks of life in NICU, with me travelling back and forth to see you from home.
The whole premature thing? Turned out to not matter a bit. You were a happy and healthy baby, who grew into a happy and healthy toddler, and then into a happy and healthy boy.
You're funny, smart, mouthy, loving, gorgeous, cuddly, sweet, curious, and a billion other things. Your father and I are so proud of you, and completely in awe of the fact that the two of us created such a wonderful being.
I love you each and every moment of every day, and I couldn't have picked a better son.
Happy eighth birthday, my love.
*Which consisted of "OH MY GOD, THAT'S HER UTERUS????? HONEY, THEY JUST TOOK IT OUT OF YOUR BODY AND PUT IT ON YOUR STOMACH!!!!!"