We celebrated my son's second birthday this weekend. All weekend long I kept thinking, what was I doing 2 years ago? Two years ago I was hugely pregnant... two years ago I went into labour... two years ago I was still in labour... two years ago I was still in labour... two years ago my son was finally yanked out of my belly by two surgeons. Two years ago I heard my son crying for the first time, and held him in my arms. Two years ago I looked at him as he was sleeping, and in the morning we watched his first sunrise together from the hospital room.
He was so excited by the party and the presents that he couldn't fall asleep that night. I sat by his bed and stroked his hair as he fell asleep, and he suddenly looked to me just like he did on that first night in the hospital, when he was only a few hours old. In two years, he learned how to walk, run, talk, jump, do puzzles, feed himself, go to the potty, feed the ducks. He's turned into quite a vivacious, loving, wonderful little boy. But I suspect he will always be my baby...
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