Memories

Today as I do every year I wrote my son his annual birthday letter.  Now I don't give him these letters, as they're something that when he was a baby I told myself I'd write and stick away for when he was older and I'm gone.  They'll be something for him to have of me that I wrote on his birthday.  I've continued the tradition for me and with any luck I'll raise a child who will be as traditionalist a soul as his mother is and will keep them around for memories.  I've written one every year, starting just a few days after his birth until now.

As I was writing memories swamped me.  From the moment I found he existed in the depths of my womb, the moment I felt him kick the first time, the moment I reached down and with a final monumental effort brought him into this world and hauled him onto my chest naked and howling, his first smile, and all the other moments that make a mother smile including the moment I found him naked in his crib with a dirty diaper dangling precariously from the wall.

It's amazing how much time has passed since any of those moments.  Now I look at him and I see a lanky 5'2" boy with shaggy hair, bright green and amber eyes that match mine, a brilliant smile, a farmer's tan, and a southern accent.  It amazes me how much he's grown from the 21 1/4 inches he was on our first moment together and how tall he is.  It also amazes me that despite my faults and flaws he sees me as his mom and to him that's good enough.  I don't have to be perfect to carry that title.  It's more than daunting if you think about it long enough. 

So as he grows like the first moment we had together I'll often laugh and cry at the same time.  I'll always be proud of him.  I'll always be slightly stunned for a moment when I look at him. I'll always, always love him fiercely.  And as the days count down to his tenth birthday, I'm going to be looking back and smiling at all of the memories ten years have brought.