Sweet sweet son, today is your birthday and I am holding on tight. Holding on to the memories, the past present and future. Holding on to you.
When your brothers were younger, life seemed slower, I felt like I was able to catch more moments. But now, sometimes it seems as though life is flying by so fast that I am just spinning. I feel like I am watching life in fast forward, when all I really want is to hit the pause button.
Each time you hit a new milestone I have been filled with excitement for you, but at the back of my mind is a subtle hint of sadness.
You have been my last of all of the firsts. My last baby to take his first step, my last baby to get his first tooth, first busted lip, first word, last to take a first ride on a bike.
You are also the last of all the lasts. My last to breastfeed, last to potty train, last to rock to sleep. And I’m excited to watch you walk through more lasts. My last to go to kindergarten, last to have “muffins with mom,” last to play his last junior high basketball game, last to get your license, last to move away from my home to begin your own. I know you will be great, you will see success and failures, and endure your own loves and your own heartaches.
You are now 3 and I still rock you to sleep. It tugs on my heart to think of the day when 1pm naptime rolls around, and this lap that has rocked you, these arms that have held you, will be empty. Because you won’t need a nap. I don’t know when that last time will happen, but I know that even if my lap is empty, my heart will be full.
When your oldest brother was born, I feel like we stayed home for 4 months. When your twin brothers were born, we stuck around home for the recommended 6-8 weeks. But you, my sweet boy, you were out and about at 5 days old. And your life hasn’t slowed down since.
You entered a world of crazy and busy. A world that already had places filled by 3 other amazing little boys. A world of soccer, and school musicals. Of church camps and vacations. And you fit right in to your spot without complaint. I know it probably hasn’t been easy, but you go with it with grace and excitement. Of course, you do make sure to keep us on our toes. Like the time you dropped our keys down a pipe at a baseball game.
You hold my heart in your chubby little hands. But yet, sometimes I still feel guilty.
I am sorry that some days after I have a long day, it seems that you just get my leftovers.
I’m sorry that I should be a “been there done that,” wise mom, who knows what she is doing, but honestly, most of the time, I don’t. Some days I feel like I have forgotten everything about how to be a mom. Some days I crave that wisdom that I should have, but feel that I am lacking. Please know I am trying with every ounce of my being. And when I fail, thank you for your patience. Your love keeps me going.
I’m sorry if it seems that I couldn’t care less when you eat off the floor, even though I cared when your oldest brother was little. I promise I care. But I’ve learned you will live through ingesting floor crumbs.
I am sorry that a lot of times you get the tired version of me. Sometimes I just feel physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired. Thank you for being willing to just sit, cuddle and do nothing with me. I hope you remember these moments.
I am sorry that your oldest brother has 5 full DVDs from his first 2 months of life. And somehow we seem to have lost our cameras when you were born. I am sorry that I completed baby books, calendars, and scrapbooks for your older brothers. And I think the only pages of your book that is filled out are the pages I did before you were born. I just hope that maybe my cell phone pictures are timestamped- that will be your baby book.
I am sorry that you have gotten the less sympathetic version of me than what your oldest brother got. If he fell, I was quick to scoop him up and cry with him. Sometimes I would even stand close enough that I could catch him before he fell. But you, my tough strong boy, I watch you fall. I let you run to me and I kiss your owies and send you back on your way.
I’m sorry that almost all of your clothes, shoes, toys and books are hand me downs.
I am pretty sure your third word was “poop.” And you love to say it, because it makes your big brothers laugh. And I’m OK with that. I have gotten to witness countless giggle fits from the 4 of you.
I am sorry that sharing is all you have ever known. You share my time, my lap, my arms, my focus, and my energy. Because those things have limits.
But I want you to know something. My love and my heart are limitless. There are no boundaries on the love I can give. You joining our family didn’t make me split my love. My love just grows as our family has grown.
You are my joy. You complete our family in ways I never could have imagined. You have been the perfect addition.
I know that tonight when I tuck you in I will kiss your squishy cheeks and say “I love you baby Beau.” And you will say “I not baby. I Beau.” And you will be right. You are not a baby, but you will always be my last baby.