Friday, April 17, 2009

And Now We Are Six

On his first day of life my son struggled to breathe. He was "blue," and was away from me on monitors in the nursery for an hour. I busily made phone calls to announce his birth throughout that hour, and was not concerned. I knew my husband was with him, and I trusted that the Lord, who had helped this little guy survive my imperfect pregnancy, would surely help him through this endeavor, too. While he did make it far past his less-than-ideal APGAR beginning, my mother and husband always recall that first hour very differently than I. I had just labored, and given birth; I was too tired to think deeply. Mom & Tom got to hover, though, and worry. Each year we recall Logan's first day of life they remind me of the frightening bits. I only remember seeing Tom carry him, with such adoration, back to my arms. I remember our son's alert face, and the marvelous feeling of his weight in my arms for the first, and then the second time.

On the occasion of his sixth birthday, Logan is again struggling to breathe. This time the situation is so much less worrisome--he has just caught a horrific cold, as have his sister and I--and, yet, I am reminded of his first day: his scurrying nurses, whispering to each other with their faces turned away from me; his midwife asking them to hear Tom say that he didn't cry much as a baby; my mom seeming genuinely concerned, waiting and watching the clock.

Last night Logan was coughing so violently that I took him into my arms in an upright chair in the living room, and fell asleep holding him up in my lap all night. When he began coughing, I woke just enough to lean forward with him and help his lungs work against the infection that's been plaguing us all since Easter Sunday. Tonight, when his coughing began again, I propped four pillows up behind him in his own bed, and will soon seclude myself to the living room couch to take on the same posture for one more rough night.

The irony struck me in such a way that I had to get it down.

Logan is now six. Six...? SIX! No birthday before this one has hit me quite the same. There's something about six that represents "older," and definitely-no-longer-'baby.' I cannot put my finger on it. He has his first (slightly) wiggly tooth on the bottom, front, and is tall and lanky. Forty-nine inches tall, and skinny as a rail, like my grandfather. He looks older. He acts older. He's such a part of our every day and every conversation. He's getting a little sass (ahem...), and knows himself well.

This is an amazing adventure--parenting--and I cannot believe that my son turned six today. Halleluiah! Wow.

Now, BREATHE, Logan!! Blow out your six tall candles with a full breath. Breathe well tonight. Inhale the goodness of your life, and God's love for you. Rise refreshed and ready to take on the new year.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, our sweet, handsome boy! How we love you.



Robynn's Ravings said...

Happy Birthday, Logan! Hope you have a wonderful day!

They do grow up fast. Each stage is bittersweet - you love the new but miss the old...sigh....

My son is 14. Where did my baby go?!

donumgraceacademy said...

Happy Birthday to Logan! So sorry to hear he (and his sis) were sick. Beautiful post comparing holding him at his birth and holding him on his birthday -- albeit sick!!