Seven

Seven years ago on the 27th of December...

I lay on my hospital bed in all my hardwired post-partum misery.  I phoned the nursery at 4am and threatened them with bodily harm if they did not bring me my baby immediately. I'd rip out all the tubes and wires from my body and HUNT. THEM. DOWN.

They brought the baby.

I had not seen him since his terrible birth hours before on the 26th.

My Dad had stayed with me through night in one of those miserable armchairs that loudly proclaim "visitors are NOT welcome!" When they brought the Bear in, we both huddled close together and watched him open his eyes and take us in with a spark of miraculous recognition. It was a special, unforgettable moment. In fact, it is my first real memory of my son. If I ever have a "MY LIFE FLASHED BEFORE MY EYES!" event, that moment will play in the slideshow.

Bear started growing up, steady and sweet. With a kind of heart breaking kindness and compassion purely innate to who he is. His sensitive heart is a brave and fragile wonder to behold.

Yesterday, he lost his first two teeth. Yes, two at once. With no days of wiggly teeth beforehand so we could make a preemptive run to the bank for some dollaz.

We were seated at the table, basking in the glow of our first farm raised meal. He turned and informed me that his mouth hurt. Lo and behold, two fully grown adult teeth jutted out from behind his baby teeth. I reached out and touched a baby tooth and it went from firm to holy wigglyness in two seconds.

"I am so efficient" Bear said in a proud voice.  "No holes for me."

I pulled out his teeth with string and placed them in the palm of my hand. I still remember the excitement over their homecoming when the Bear was nearly 12 months old. Finally! Teething crackers! Now they've done their job and their time is up. Who knew milk teeth could usher in near emotional breakdown?

I've watched him closely this week, savoring the sixness of him.  I adore his habits, even the messy ones that so heavily mark these boyhood adventure days.

The wooden box next to his bed filled with revolutionary war soldiers. He takes them out and lines them up carefully, then returns them back to the box in a precise order.

The pile of books always strewn about his bed. His bed never lacks an open book.

His enthusiasm for a great story. "Read it again! And make the voices even crazier please!"

He rarely wishes anyone "Merry Christmas" instead he says, "A most heartfelt Merry Christmas to you!"

The sound of his wheels turning just before he builds something incredibly creative and out of the box.

His scent when he comes in from an afternoon of outdoor play. Sunshine, crushed grass and freshly churned earth.

The way his face crumples before he apologizes to one of his brothers. The broken way he says "I love you, will you forgive me?" The purest contrition I've ever heard in a child comes from this little boy of mine.

His innocence. Its still intact. In this day in age, that is miraculous and I thank God for this gift. Shepherding him over the next few years to keep that innocence without it festering into ignorance will be a tricky line to walk.

Seven. He is turning seven in five short days. I don't know why this birthday feels so much more monumental than turning six did, but it does.

Six was a tremendous year for him. He accepted Jesus into his heart. He conquered his fears and learned to ride a bike. He learned to jump out of trees and learned how to stick up for himself a little more. He lost his first two teeth. He learned to read. He took risks. He overcame his first failures. He asked really tough questions and gave really thoughtful answers. He discovered Sherlock Holmes and George Washington and Paul Revere. He became a die hard patriot. He laughed a lot! He mastered his lightsaber vocal sound effects. He memorized more scripture this year than I have in my entire life and challenged me to join him next year.

I am proud of my boy. We are mere days away from "Happy Birthday dearest" and so I am soaking in all those bits of charming boyness before they shift, evolve and disappear unannounced one day between breakfast and lunch.

Instead of joining in the hustle and bustle of preparing for the Holidays, I am off to memorize my son's hands, the way they look today, a breath before turning seven.