Six years ago, I met a boy. He had red hair and big blue eyes. I was instantly in love. You know, they say stuff like that happens, and I've never been much of one to listen to what they say, but this time they were right. I still can't get over him. We looked at each other for a long time that day, our first meeting, and there were no words spoken, but we knew. We just knew. He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
Of course, he was covered in goo and had a placenta attached to him, but it wasn't his fault. He had just been through quite an ordeal, and was just too tuckered out to clean up.
My little T is 6. As I live and breathe, I cannot believe that my baby, my sweet butter love, is 6 years old. Of all of my children, his birth is the one I recall most vividly. Even more so than L, just 6 months ago. I remember every second of his grand entrance to our world.
He didn't cry when he was born. He laid on my chest and stared at me. When his daddy finally broke the silence, he craned his little tiny baby neck around in a way a baby shouldn't be able to and looked dead at his father. He was smart even then. And quite, and sweet, and easy, and lovely.
This is the child who 3 years later said, "Mommy, my penis is beautiful. Can I pee on you?"
It figures he was born on the day of relativity.
I love this kid. So bad. So bad it hurts. There is no more interesting person on the face of this earth. He made me a better person and a complete mother.
There will be more, and birthday pictures, but his little sister is crying. God forbid I even think about someone else for a minute or two!