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He is 8.

Edited to add: I thought this post had published last night...clearly, I was wrong. (Sheesh, that NEVER happens...you know, ME being WRONG.) ;) So, without further ado, last night's post:

8 years ago, at approximately this very minute, I was pelting my sound asleep and snoring husband with anything I could reach from my hospital bed.

The baby boy I had given birth to not quite 24 hours ago, super speedy like, in the middle of the night, was finally asleep...but the radiator in my room was clinging and clanging and hissing and sputtering and I JUST COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.


So, I chucked a bottle of lotion at him and pleaded with him to please wake up and fetch the nurse cuz MAMA WAS GONNA LOSE IT. And soon.

I was exhausted. Elated, overjoyed, madly in love with the tiny bundle in my arms, but exhausted. I pulled the "difficult patient" card and we scored a great new room.

That baby...that sweet, tiny, wise old soul of a newborn, was my Hambone. He came rip roaring into the world on a super rainy night, bolting into our lives and our hearts.


This boy of mine is incredible. Goofy. Quirky. Unique. Handsome. And all together pretty dang amazing. He plays the little brother part very well and can quickly switch roles and just as easily put on his big brother cap for his baby sister. She adores him, by the way.


We are blessed. Hambone is perfection all wrapped up in a wiry little 8 year old body. He's never met a kid who didn't love him...or an adult who didn't immediately take a liking to him.

Happy birthday, sweet boy...you are our love and our light and our joy!! We love you!!

Comments

  1. ahh love it, I wish you could have seen me last week in labor and delivery triage. My husband heard every complaint. Complaining about stained sheets, lack of pillows. I have been so spoiled in my last hospitals and this one is well GHETTO

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