Instead of putting the finishing touches on school plans yesterday, I threw a little birthday party at Great Gran’s house for Baby O. (Might I call him “Baby” just this one last time? He’ll always be my baby.) Usually, I do these things at home, but what use is an August birthday if you don’t have a pool party?
And so we swam.
But before I go on, I must confess that I cannot seem to celebrate this child’s birthday without thinking about his birth. I really am not the sort of woman who does this. For the most part, my nostalgia over the birthdays revolves around contemplating the past year and how much my child has grown. But this child, well, I suppose I won’t ever forget waiting three horrible minutes for him to start breathing, followed all too shortly by the revelation that we couldn’t have more children.
Um. Can’t we make sure my child is really alive first, before throwing my fertility into the trashbin of history?
I’m just saying.
Anyhow, Baby O. turned out to be quite the fighter, and so the past two years have flown by happily.
It’s a little ironic to me to think about my first view of him, his limp little purple arms and legs hanging down lifelessly, because he has more life in him than my other three children combined. If I can think of one word to describe this child, it is vibrant.
Which, naturally, made the pool party extra fun. My other babies cried, whined, and complained about pools until they were three. They didn’t like the cold, nor the wet. They didn’t put much stock in swimming. I watched my cousin’s little ones floating around happily, while I grudgingly tugged around a toddler in a floaty, trying to make the crying stop.
And then there is O.
O., who has no use for my “help” in the pool. Donning a life vest and arm floaties (because the vest doesn’t quite keep him above the water line), he swims and kicks all over the pool, and if I try to sneak up on him to make sure he’s okay, he screams and swims away as fast as he can. He swam until well past his naptime yesterday, which meant that when he finally did get a nap, it was a good one.
I love this little guy.
So here we are. O. is two, and beginning to make his way in the world a little bit. It is still hard for me to believe that my little 4-pound baby has grown so fast–and so strong–so soon.
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