How about here?
That's right, blog friends. My sister has had a baby boy! His name is Legend, and since day one, he's living up to his name. I had the privilege of being right at Lori's side as she ushered her heart into this world on January 3, which was three weeks before his expected arrival. When he came out, his cord was TIGHTLY wrapped around his tiny neck. He was purple and didn't make a sound. He struggled to breathe off and on for the first day or two, and was taken to a bigger hospital in Orlando, where he spent the next nine days. The verdict was that he had a paralyzed vocal cord on his right side, and a condition that alot of preemies have called SVT (his heart would run very high heart rates off and on). Thanks to a medical team that I cannot brag enough about and the power of a magnificent healing God, Legend has a heart that is perfectly healthy, and his cry is getting (MUCH) louder every day. He is the first boy in our family... first in four generations on my Mom's side... and we are over the moon about this little seven pound bundle of chewiness.
As I sit and hold Legend every day (my office is not even one minute from his house... the perfect lunch getaway), I cannot help but think of my own girl and wonder where in the HECK the time has gone. I reflect back on her early years, and I literally feel like I'm trying to see through a fog. The memories are blurred and I only see bits and pieces of time. I want to pin Lori and Seth to the wall and somehow force them to understand how quickly this tender phase of their lives will pass. But I know that even if I could, they won't get it until they go through it. Days of diaper changing, spit up, rocking, and worrying turn into weeks and months, which all add up to one magnificent adventure.
One of the ten million wonderful things about Legend being here is how his very existence has forced me to hold Abi a little closer... squeeze her a little tighter... bite her sweet cheeks a little more often. Her birthday is fast approaching, and for some reason, I cannot bring myself to say the word "seven" when asked how old she'll be. See, the fact is, she's not in little powder scented diapers anymore. She doesn't require me to rock her to sleep, though on the rare occasion she asks, I gladly oblige. She can wipe her own rear end, pick out her own clothes (haha), and get her seatbelt on without my assistance.
But she's still a baby. MY baby.
My baby, who still says things like, "Mom, I have so much fun with you." MY baby, who asks, "Will spiders crawl into my mouth while I sleep?" MY baby, who would eat pancakes 24/7 if allowed the chance. MY baby, who cries while watching Animal Planet. MY baby, who hasn't outgrown running to me when the bell rings and kissing me right in front of all her friends. MY baby who at her young age is already so hormonal, I think I'll lose my own sanity BEFORE she starts her period.
We ooh and aah over the tiny ones, the new ones... and understandably so. But Moms, Dads... we have babies that are tender, albeit sometimes hard to love, at seven, twelve, and seventeen.
Take a minute today and smooch on your baby. I'm already counting the hours until I chew on my girl when she gets out of school today.
But first, it's only an hour and a half until lunch. And this is where I'm headed.