My youngest is 5 today.
He was a bit of a surprise. We wanted him of course, but after a couple years we figured another it wasn’t meant to be. We began talking about fostering and adopting.
But then, a baby was on its way. There was a moment of fear at one of my first doctor appointments. A heartbeat couldn’t be found, and I was ushered to the ultrasound room. I asked the technician if she would tell me what she found. She told me she wasn’t supposed to, but she would. I was fortunate, it was just my extra belly rolls preventing a heartbeat to be easily found in the examination room.
The ultrasound easily picked up a strong rhythm.
I remember feeling a bit more anxious with this one. I was older. Geriatric. His due date was originally July 4, which I was fun, but I was worried that having 8, if that, short weeks with him before school started up again wasn’t enough. That worry only increased when his due date was pushed to a week later.
I didn’t have daycare lined up yet. My previous daycare had said no when I ran into her one afternoon early into the pregnancy and asked if she had any room for an infant. I had been researching and visiting other childcare providers and couldn’t find any I would have felt comfortable or could afford leaving my newborn with.
I felt a strong urge to want to stay home with this one. My last one. And soak up every minute of it.
But financially that wasn’t an option, and deep down I know I am not meant to be a stay at home mom.
I remember visiting my grandma while pregnant with him. That amazing lady must have sensed my anxiety. After our visit, as we were saying our goodbyes and giving our hugs, she looked at me and said, “Everything will turn out OK.”
And it did.
He was born around 11 o’clock at night on 7/11. (No, I don’t remember the exact time nor his weight or length, judge away judgy people, but seriously who cares about those trivial details?!).
Because it was so late we couldn’t have visitors. He just stayed naked and snuggling on my chest for a good long while without anyone else vying for his attention. Just me and my littlest man.
We didn’t even have a name picked out for him at the time of his birth. It had been narrowed down to 2 options, but it was a few hours after he was born before we made it official.
All my worry about daycare and leaving him to go back to work did turn out OK just like my grandma said it would. I ran into my previous childcare provider again a few weeks after he was born, and she said, “Well of course I have room for you! I thought you were asking for someone else.”
And then I found a new job. Normally it would seem that starting a new job with a a newborn would just add even more stress, but this job was meant for me. While it was more of a commute (thank goodness for a husband with more flexible mornings), it was my dream job. It was fun and different and I had much less planning and grading to do. My time at home was time I could fully be with my babies.
Everything turned out OK. More than OK.
My now 5 year old is a perfect mixture of both of his older brothers’ personalities. He drives me crazy and makes me laugh at the exact same time. He likes to snuggle and is also independent. He makes hilarious faces when he finds something exciting. When his brothers start wrestling he jumps right in without any fear and often wins the match. He feels his feelings strongly and shares those feelings with anyone around him.
He is loud and loving and everything I could have hoped for.
Happy Birthday, Baby Cakes.