The Wiggle

D turns 8 today.    How in the world is that even possible?  The ride to this point was way too fast.
He was born on 3-24-03 at 4:23pm.  In my mind, he is extra special because of the transposition of those numbers.  I know, I know.

Some days I wish I could shrink him back down to baby/toddler size and do it all over again.  Mostly because I just miss squeezing on him and his cute baby laugh.  But also because I would do so many things differently with him that I have now learned by having 2 more little people.  Isn't that what most mothers of first-borns say?

I didn't plan on having kids and frankly, didn't even really like them all that much until I had one of my own.  I was not the girl who fawned over newborns and wandered all dreamy-eyed through baby sections in stores.  No, I was the girl giving mothers and children the world over a pretty serious stink-eye when out in public and too much racket was being made.  I had barely held a baby, much less changed diapers or given bottles or knew when to call the doc.

But then I had my Wiggle Worm...named of course for all the wiggling he did in utero as well as out of the swaddling mess I attempted to cocoon him in to bring on the sleep.  I can still remember holding him in the hospital room, just the two of us, and whispering to him over and over again how much I loved him.  I can remember everything about the day he came home-how we didn't know how to install the car seat as we were preparing to leave the hospital, how he looked sleeping in his new bassinet with his little fists tightly curled and how I felt super energetic.  Then, reality hit.  I can also recall standing in my kitchen in my robe, unshowered and hair on end, wondering if I could remember how to operate the coffee maker.

Now he is a "big kid" as he likes to remind me.  I love the little person he is becoming-he is sweet, funny, shy, smart, creative, goofy and incredibly handsome.  I have had friends tell me I baby him too much.  For most of his kindergarten year, I warmed his clothes up in the dryer every day.  It started because in the mornings it was cold and he was hard to wake up so I thought if he had something warm to slip into, it would help.  But then it became a habit of mine, not something he was necessarily expecting.  I quit doing it cold-turkey and he has never uttered a word about it.  Although.
The other night he comes out of his bathroom dripping wet and informs me that I forgot to leave his towel and pajamas out for him.  Whoa, Tonto.  Who is this kid?
Oh, that's right.  He's mine, the one I over-indulge out of sheer guilt.  Guilt for not playing with him enough, yelling too much, forcing things on him, not requiring him to do enough.
A load of crap to sort through that I would wager a lot of mothers of first-borns feel.
How do you know you're getting it right?  Now that I have 2 others and something tangible to compare it to, I know better.

Did my yelling make him shy?  Should I have forced him to do things he didn't want to when he was younger like other moms did?  Would that make him more competitive?  Do I want all that?
Who the hell knows.
I know that I adore this kid and everyday I appreciate more and more his amazing imagination and creativity, his unwillingness to always conform, his love of nature and his general goodness.  I am so thankful that God gave him to us and for his good health.
Maybe my Lenten intentions this year should have included not second guessing my parenting skills and just being happy that I AM a parent.

Happy Birthday, D!  I love you more than any words could convey on paper.