Today is boy-child’s 11th birthday! (Well, actually, in …Off on a Tangent world, which is my virtual world, which is me, mostly, boy-child’s birthday was yesterday since I’m usually about a day behind reality here.) Anyway, boy-child is officially a year older, and so, therefore, am I.
He was born early – about 7 weeks – and while that’s not really as early as some other premature babies, it was certainly scary enough for this first-time mother. He spent the first twelve days of his life in the NICU at Children’s Hospital getting a suntan (he was slightly jaundiced) and being fed through a tube (he didn't have a suck-reflex, so he had to learn it). Visiting him there was scary, too – but I couldn't stay away.
One night, hubby and I had gone home for the night with the intent of returning to the hospital first thing the next morning, and I had an anxiety attack just before midnight absolutely convinced something was wrong with boy-child. All alone. In an incubator. In a big scary hospital. All alone. Alone. SOB! So hubby drove my hyperventilating-self to Children’s Hospital (a 30 mile drive, mind you) so I could see our little baby boy.
Boy-child was so tiny. Born at 4lbs 6.8oz and 17 ¾ inches long. He had a full head of black hair which, as he got older, all fell out and grew back blonde. He had giant brown eyes. Giant. And he had a way of peeking at you from under these mile-long eyelashes – even as a tiny infant – that just melted your heart. He had a huge noggin! As he got a little older and started sitting up, that head, more often than not, was the reason he couldn't keep his balance and tipped right over.
As a now 11-year old, not much has changed except that he’s bigger, and he has grown into his head. He still has huge brown eyes and long, dark eyelashes, though, and he makes use of them regularly because he knows just the right look will still melt my heart and he can get just about whatever he wants. (I’m really not a pushover, though, and he doesn't really get whatever he wants, but darn it! He’s hard to resist!) I just love him to pieces.
Happy birthday, buddy! I love you!
JMS (a.k.a. “Mom”)