Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Oliver. You are turning ONE.

Oh Oliver.  Ah-ber.  Ollie-bear.  OG.  All of the other names we call you.  When I found out I was pregnant with you, the day after my last (EVER) marathon, I was caught so off guard.  I could not be more scared or more thrilled.  I always wanted three kids.  I never thought it would be three boys.  When I found out that Meyer was a boy, I was sad.  I "knew" it was my last and was disappointed to not have a girl.  With you, this little surprise baby, I was just so thrilled to have you.  To have you be healthy.  To have you be in existence.  I knew your name, much like your brothers.  As soon as I looked at names, I knew what you would be called.

When they referenced how I could, possibly, have placenta previa I remembered they said that with G and it was no big deal.  You, however, turned out to be quite the big deal.  Bed rests.  Bleeds.  Emergency C sections.  Ambulance Rides.  Everything I could never want.  Not being able to be active.  Not being able to be with the big kids.  Not being able to hold you for 9 months.  (10, lets be honest.)  That was the scariest time of my life.

I knew normal births.  I knew an epidural.  I knew a natural birth.  I knew nothing of a C-section (other than googles).  What I knew less about was having a baby and having that baby whisked away to the NICU and then not being able to hold him.  Not being able to have him in my room.  Not being able to go home with him.  Those things were the worst.  I was in a hospital room alone.  I worried about you.  All day.  All night.  Would you come home?  When?  How?  How would we make it.

We spent a, now seemingly short, amount of 3.5 weeks with you there.  I tell people it is the best place you never want to be.  I want to be a nurse because of you.  Because of what people can do for others.  I spent 3.5 weeks being mommy to all and none... but you can read all of that story from some time ago.  Lets talk about who you are becoming.

Oliver, I hoped for you.  I prayed for you.  You are amazing.  You are patient.  You laugh.  You look for your brothers.  Everywhere.  You prefer for them to swing you in a swing.  You eat meals.  Often more than them.  Probably because you have some catching up to do.  You army crawl just like Griffin.  You pull up on everything.   You prefer the unsafe stairs and the not bolted in book shelves.You have the best smile.  The best belly laugh.  the most red hair of all the kids.  You are the apple of your brothers eyes.  You are bathed less, scheduled less and less helicoptered.  You wave.  you say mama.  Dada.  Bubba.  more.  hi.  have chunky legs.  Beautiful eyes.  Big ol teeth like your mama.

You are everything.  You came into this world unprepared for and unprepared.  You grew.  You learned how to breathe.  You learned how to regulate your body temp.  You taught us how to love and leave a baby in a tiny giraffe.  You taught me to advocate for what I wanted.  You taught me to be the best defender.  You taught me to slow down.  To imagine the world.  To be at peace in a hectic life.  You complete our house--no, literally, we have zero more bedrooms now.  We love you.  To the moon and back.

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