My sweet baby turns 3 this Sunday.
Three years ago on October 18, at 7 p.m., I
strolled waddled into the hospital with contractions about a minute apart. I thought they were just more Braxton Hicks contractions, which I had since 18 weeks or so. But, just to be safe, I thought…
I still remember the nurse checking me and tell us, “You’re staying! You’re at a 7!” Holy cow.
Suddenly, everything changed.
Now, it was “call the family,” “make the plans,” “double check the bag.” Where’s the birth plan? (HA, like he came as planned!) Do I have his going home outfit? Will my family all make it in time?
The short version is that Corbin did come…22 hours later. In case you wondered, my family made it in time.
And they’ll be here for his party this Saturday to celebrate him. But the last couple months, he’s had some moments that have made it hard to celebrate. Like yelling at me. Or saying, “No!” Or throwing himself on the ground when he doesn’t get his way because apparently it’s upsetting to a child when you tell him he can’t have yet another pancake after he’s already eaten 4. I know, I’m a monster.
Or asking me and Jay to do the same Mike the Knight puzzle a thousand times.
We’re sitting at the table a couple days ago, having lunch when Corbin starts into the “Let’s do a puzzle” frenzy. It quickly grows from a request, to a demand, to a fit. Now he’s yelling about the puzzle. “I. WANT. US. TO. DO. A. PUZZLE!!” You would’ve though that doing the puzzle won him some sort of extravagant prize. (By the way, pretty sure at this point we could all do the puzzle with our toes.)
But suddenly, everything changed.
Jay read an email from a friend, informing us that he and his wife miscarried their precious twins a few days earlier. They’ve been trying to conceive for awhile, and this miscarriage isn’t their first.
Our eyes filled with tears as we looked at our sweet child, covered in whatever he was eating at the time, still fuming about our refusal over, what was sure to be, an epic puzzle-making good time.
We looked at each other and realized it immediately. We’ve taken him for granted. Accidentally. Subconsciously. Without bitterness or anger towards him. Just in the humdrum of life and two-and-a-half-year-old fits, we’ve done it.
And so we said, “Let’s do a puzzle.”