Eight Years Ago Today...

WoW! Eight years have come and gone, seasons have changed, addresses changed, sisters added and today would have been your baptism day. I look for you my son in the things that I do. The butterflies that gently float by remind me of you. I look at your sisters and think about the boy that you would be today. Today your father would have baptized you with all of your family and friends gathered together, but somethings must wait for later. I love you my son and wonder sometimes what you are doing in heaven. Are you having fun with all of your grandparents and other angel babies who check in on their parents from time to time?? I sure miss you but know that you are busy and happy. No longer bound to the little body with a broken heart, but perfect in every sense of the word to run and play and do all those things that little boys do. Today I will be able to go to your grave on your birthday for the first time and reflect on the few short hours that we had together all those years ago. You are my child and I am so thankful for eternal families. Hug your babies today and tell them that you love them!!

In moving and unpacking I found a letter that my grandma send me while I was preggers with Ben. And it's so true. Only after being a mother, do I get it. I thought that instead of posting Ben's story this year I would write this out for you. If you wanna read Ben's story it is posted on his birthday last year just click here ---> Ben's story

Grams letter:
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life." I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations...."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physicals wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die?

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. The the urgent call of "MOM!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years- not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to power the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice, and drunk driving. I hope that she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear way to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her that belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You will never regret it, " I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of all callings. This blessed gift from God....That of being a Mother!