Nine Months

Dear Jack,

In a couple of days you will be nine months old. I would say that you have been out in the world as long as you were in my tummy, but that would be a lie because you decided to wait until I took matters into my own hands and evicted you myself. I will never forget when Dr. Rock asked me if I wanted to be induced. I know I heard angels singing and I swear I could smell flowers.

For me, these first nine months have been much more satisfying that the nine months you were inside of me, and I think they have been for you as well. I prefer you more in my arms than squashed all hours of the day in my pelvis.

The last month has been, yet, another blur of happenings. Except for formula, you are completely done with baby food. We are starting to try and teach you how to wave. You say "Dada" and "Mama" but you have no idea what that means and that those labels apply to us. Your balance is getting a lot better and I expect you to let go of the end table one day and just take a walk. By the way, the thought of you walking completely creeps me out. I think it is because you are growing up entirely too fast and my brain is having a hard time processing past the fact that you crawl and know how to yell and fake laugh.

You had your first operation this month, nothing big. You were born with a slight defect- well I would hardly call it a defect because it has not and will not ever affect you and you can not tell anything is different unless you look really hard...which there better not be too many people looking that hard.

I was pretty calm about everything before hand. Just a little procedure, no big deal. The day before, the nurse called to tell me what time to come in and then casually pressed the red button under her desk and sent the nuclear bomb that you would not be able to eat anything from 5am until your surgery at 1130. But, dont worry, he is Dr. Wu's first appointment. Oh, ok, that would make your lack of understanding pertaining to WHY I was not letting you eat all morning go a lot smoother.

Thankfully, you are a little billy goat and you were happy enough chewing on my keys. We got to the hospital and they took us back to a room to be weighed and measured and changed. P.s. CUTEST little hospital gown. They say ignorance is bliss, and so you were completely content sitting on my lap and whipping my keys at my face.

It was when I started talking to the anesthesiologist and doctors and nurses when things started to sink in- you would be put under completely. I realized in that moment that I was absolutely petrified. Of course, everything went well, but the wait to hear that you were awake felt like an eternity. I have to say, I have never seen you so happy to see me in your entire life. We sat in the recovery room and just cuddled in the chair. We were back where we started our relationship- in a hospital room, your hand wrapped around my finger and me obsessing over how absolutely beautiful you are and how absolutely lucky I am to have you in my life.

When we left the hospital and got home, you were completely happy and wonderful the entire night and everyday following. I find myself always underestimating how strong you are and how much you can handle. I suppose that is what mothers do though. I will always want to baby you, even when you are married and have your own wife and kids. I suppose that is just a part of motherhood. Sure, I will let you grow and discover things on your own. I refuse to have you completely dependent on me and I will never handicap you by sheltering you from the world. But, no matter how old you get, my heart will always recognize you as my little baby boy with big innocent blue eyes. My heart is my Never Land, and you are my Peter Pan.

Love,

Mommy