Zach is seven today. We got him several little gifts that he has been wanting, but the biggest one involved real estate. He got to move into his very own room. I spent the day yesterday trying to make that happen. The process of pulling out the allen wrench and breaking down the crib that has been a physical presence in that room for SEVEN years did not escape my bittersweet gene. I was crying like, well, a baby, as I loosened the bolts on the bed that has sheltered my three boys so well.
I also spent yesterday thinking about what I was doing seven years prior. I remember laboring at Neen and Rick’s house. Little Ricky (who is a grown man, but I still call him little Ricky) and Ru were there to witness the madness. Both were single and seemed very young to me in years and experience. I think they probably saw the whole thing as a kind of freakish episode of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, but at the very least it was probably a profoundly effective means of birth control for both of them. The following morning, very early, Zach was born. I remember seeing his reddish curly hair and saying aloud, “Oh Baby, I’m sorry.”
Chris drove us home at a blistering seven miles an hour the next day, and that, my friends, is how it all began. This amazing, frustrating, exhausting, insanely painful, constantly rewarding journey that is my family. Before there were kids, it was just us. When Z. came along, everything changed in every conceivable way….for the better, I know. I cannot fathom my life without him, without them, without. I was an okay girl before, but they have made me so much better. Thank you, my sweet boys.