Eight

Today, Running Chatter is for our one and only boy.  (Past years:  seven, six, five)

Charlie,

It is impossible to express in mere words what happened when you entered our world.  It’s kind of like trying to describe a vibrant sunset to someone who has never seen color. . . words are so inadequate.  It’s true what people say.  In one moment, everything can change and the moment you were born, everything did change.

Oh, that hospital room was filled with so much joy. It was nearly midnight when the doctors voice rang out,  you have a healthy baby boy, but your Daddy’s smile lit up the room like it was high noon.  In moments we were swarmed with family who were just waiting to pour their love out on you.  Tears and laughter flowed as our sweet baby boy stole our hearts and claimed them as his own.

Charlie, I’m sure that in your mind eight years seems like a very long time ago.  In reality, it’s a lifetime to you.  But to me?  To me, Charlie, it feels like it was yesterday.  Just yesterday when you fit neatly in your Daddy’s hand.  Just yesterday that I tucked you against my neck and sang, I’ll love you Forever.  Just yesterday when your squeaky voice called out I wuv oo.
It wasn’t yesterday, though. In eight short years that little baby boy has become a pretty awesome young man who I am beyond proud to call my son.

I won’t lie, though, Charlie.  When I first heard those words, it’s a boy, I was scared.  Terrified, really.  I’ve never been a boy.  What do I do with a boy?  How will I relate to a boy?  I was so uncertain. 

But somehow, Charlie, things just worked out.  Somehow, I’ve found my way around life with a boy and have found it to be absolutely wonderful.  I have found you to be absolutely wonderful. . .

Charlie, you have this way about you.  This energy, almost like an electric current, that adds life everywhere you go.  You prefer to be with people.  You like to laugh and run and play and be silly.  You love to be silly.  And ornery.  Oh, Charlie, you are so ornery. 

Oh but there is so much more to you.  So much more. 

Charlie, you are a feeler.  At eight years old I see it, you feel and you feel deeply.  Even now, I see glimpses of the husband and father you might one day be.  I see it in the way you gently care for you baby sister.  The way you tend to her when she cries.  The way you make sure she is okay.  The way you talk to her gently.  The way you think of her, first. . .

I see it in the way you refuse to leave the house without first giving me a hug.  The way you refuse to get on the bus without hugging me first.  I feel it each day when you step off the bus and walk toward me and wrap your arms around me.  Charlie, you don’t have to do these things. . . you do them because that is just who you are. . .

. . . you are uniquely Charlie.

I remember that cool October night like it happened last night.  The years have gone by so fast.  Charlie, I have no doubt that the next eight years will go by just as quickly.  Eight will turn to nine and ten and eleven and twelve and on and on and before I know if you will be a full grown man.  Before my heart is ready. . . you will grow. . .

And so your Daddy and I do all we know to do.  We stand behind you and we cheer you on.  We  stand behind you with all the confidence in the world that you will soar in whatever you chose to do.  We  stand behind you and we pray, we smile, we cry, and we support. . . because we are proud of who you are and who you are becoming. . .

And since I know you well enough to know that when you actually do read this someday you will likely skip to the end, let me close with this. . .

Charlie, thank you for giving me the greatest gift any one could have ever given me.

Thank you for making me a Mama.

I am so proud to be your Mama.

Happy Birthday.

I love you.

Mommy