It was a weird day back then, too. I think about it a lot. The weather that day. The pop and gush of your amniotic fluid so early in the morning, busted by your bony self, set off almost 24 hours of wild winds and rain and sun and humidity and clouds.
Driving home today was the first time in my driving life that I was convinced I'd be in an accident. So many cars, so much snow. It was as if everyone was unprepared. Even me. The more I read about the storm I can't believe I made it home unscathed.
But I made it. I made it just like you did, my love. Your birth was incredibly hard. It was hard and I can cry thinking about everything I know about you now and if I had known then would I have done anything different. It's an impossible situation to get my head around.
10 years. You have been with me for 10 years.
You talk and walk (well, let's be honest: you gallop). You tease your sisters and dance to ROCK N ROLL, BABY!. You prefer to wear hoodies and soft pants and to eat macaroni and cheese.
I prefer to never imagine a world without you in it.
One of the greatest things about having you around is that I still get to see you do new things, new and sweet childlike things like reading books to yourself and creating imaginary games with your toys and new and wild grown up guy things like getting your own water and putting your shoes on the right feet the first time.
You make me slow down and marvel. You keep me on the edge of wonder and amazement.
You keep me terrified of the future.
10. Soon it will be 15, 20, 30. I'll be old when you're thirty and you'll be a young man. I'll be old and I hope I will have done enough to keep you happy and safe and able to navigate any storm on any day.
Happy Birthday, Lincoln.
Driving home today was the first time in my driving life that I was convinced I'd be in an accident. So many cars, so much snow. It was as if everyone was unprepared. Even me. The more I read about the storm I can't believe I made it home unscathed.
But I made it. I made it just like you did, my love. Your birth was incredibly hard. It was hard and I can cry thinking about everything I know about you now and if I had known then would I have done anything different. It's an impossible situation to get my head around.
10 years. You have been with me for 10 years.
You talk and walk (well, let's be honest: you gallop). You tease your sisters and dance to ROCK N ROLL, BABY!. You prefer to wear hoodies and soft pants and to eat macaroni and cheese.
I prefer to never imagine a world without you in it.
One of the greatest things about having you around is that I still get to see you do new things, new and sweet childlike things like reading books to yourself and creating imaginary games with your toys and new and wild grown up guy things like getting your own water and putting your shoes on the right feet the first time.
You make me slow down and marvel. You keep me on the edge of wonder and amazement.
You keep me terrified of the future.
10. Soon it will be 15, 20, 30. I'll be old when you're thirty and you'll be a young man. I'll be old and I hope I will have done enough to keep you happy and safe and able to navigate any storm on any day.
Happy Birthday, Lincoln.
2 comments:
And the blog just ends here? Hope all is well
I guess I should say more. I stumbled across this just the other day and devoured it. Starting from the first entry, taking breaks to think and breathe. And now it’s ended, without resolution. Which I guess is how life goes.
And I really mean it, I hope all is well. Not because I think you lack the strength or courage or skills to overcome difficulties. Clearly that’s not the case. But sometimes shit happens.
I’ve enjoyed my time in your head.
Post a Comment