My Dear Boy,
Today, I want to remember how you were at 6 months. Ferocious about life. Always smiling. My buddy.
I will forever remember the day you were born. I awoke with such excitement! Then the phone rang…”We’re sorry. You will have to wait for the induction because the hospital ward is full right now. OK. So no baby today. ”
Disappointment settled upon me. I decided the cat needed a bath. (If your 9-month pregnant wife ever asks you to give the cat a bath run as far as possible in the opposite direction. Do NOT take her seriously.)
So, with much effort, drama, and screeching as you can imagine, your daddy and I tried to give the poor cat a bath.
RING…lucky for the cat…RING…get the phone…RING…”Hello? Yes, we’re ready for you now.”
We gathered mommy’s stuff together, jumped into the car and flew to the hospital. It was slow at first, but things gradually increased. The later it became, the more panicked I became. Finally, the doctor sent everyone out of the room (literally, we had an army there to welcome you into the world!) except for daddy and your Grandma. The doctors were worried because you were showing distress. At this point, I’d waited so long for you, I just wanted you with me.
Then the moment arrived. I heard your first cry. I wanted to hold you, look at your little toes, examine the absolute wonder of you. Later, the realization of what had happened would kick in, but for that split second, it was just me and you in our own little world. I was holding a piece of heaven in my arms.
And I’m REALLY not ready for you to get your learner’s permit. TWO more years you told me yesterday. I’m just now getting used to you being 13…let’s wait for driving a car!
Yet, I know…we are now starting down a journey together, where you will finally be able to walk on your own. I know in my heart, I have to let you go this way…but I’m not ready. I’ve given years of my life to nurturing you, soothing you, caring for you, loving you. I will always be your mom. I’m just not ready to let go.
Maybe that’s why God gives us the teenage years; to get ready for the day when you leave. But today, I’m not ready.