4 Years

There's something extra sad when it comes to birthdays and milestones with your last born. Of course, as a parent, you want to be excited for milestones, and don't want to be selfish. But it's just the nature of parenthood, I suppose. When they grow, you're happy for them, but at the same time, you're longing for time to slow down and wish you could rewind now and then.
Today, my youngest baby turns four. Three still sounds like a baby. Four sounds like a little kid. (Hold me.)

Four years ago he came into this world via c-section, urinating all over the place with the blondest hair, looking like a baby giant. From the moment they handed him to me, he was attached. He never wanted to be out of my arms in the first year, and I was more than okay with that. His raspy lisp and his adorable underbite are part of the reason he gets away with a lot. That, and the fact that he's the baby, of course.

But other than just being the baby, he's special because he's my rainbow baby. When we originally started our family, we wondered if we wanted children. Then Finley came pretty quickly and we were smitten. Fisher came 2 years later, and there was a part of us that thought we were probably finished, though I wasn't ready to make any permanent decisions. The next thing we knew, we were expecting again. And when we were 12 weeks along, we found out that we had lost the baby. I knew that I wanted another baby after that, even though we knew three would be hard. But there was just something inside of me that wouldn't let it go.
And thank God I didn't.

My pregnancy with Fielder was fine. I was very large, but so was he. Sometimes I miss those kicks, and when I watch videos of them, I can feel them again. He was the most active in my stomach out of all of the babies. And it's very fitting that wherever he goes, he runs instead of walking. He is inquisitive, mischievous, and knows more about animals than I do. He only points with his middle finger, and it used to embarrass me. Now I know that I'll feel awfully sad when he stops. He still thinks that when he's hiding under a blanket or a laundry basket, that I can't see him. He has absolutely no concept of time, but constantly asks me what time it is. He imitates different animals and has me guess what he's being. He'll say, "It's a sea animal, but it isn't a shark, a whale, or an orca." Then he will move his arms in a funny way and make a face that shows he is in deep concentration, as he imitates a jellyfish. His favorite thing to do is take a shower. He would take 5 a day if I'd let him. He just likes to sit in the bottom and play with his toys while the hot water hits his back. He despises cleaning and doing chores, and when I tell him to do something, he says, "Ugh. This is boring for me." I have to remind him that it's boring for me, too, but we have to do it. He will randomly walk over to my chair while I'm working on the computer and give me a hug, or just a tender pat on the back. He's full of wonder and mischief, but he's even more full of love. I have no doubt that I'm his favorite person, and nobody else doubts that, either. He's a mama's boy through and through, and I eat it up. I've been home with him every day since the end of September, and it isn't lost on me that these moments are special. We watch tons of Peppa Pig, play animal games, and don't clean much, because it's boring for us, of course.

I love each stage that comes along, but I long the previous one at the same time. Time is a thief. I've said it a million times. And now that my last baby is no longer a baby, I feel it more than ever.

Four years ago, at 12:49PM, a 9 pound, 3 ounce baby boy came into this world and stole all of our hearts. And it doesn't look like there are any plans of him giving them back to us. And I'm more than okay with that. Happy birthday, Baby Boy.


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