Happy Birthday, Sweet Roux

Two years ago, my third child came into the world. There's not a whole lot that Roux seems to be afraid of, but that day, the day he was born, he was afraid. 

I blame myself for not being able to stay calm. I did my best during the pregnancy with feeling good with just being myself, by myself. I knew that we were going to be okay no matter what. But I was still so terrified and unsure of the future.

For almost the entirety of the pregnancy, I made sure to tell the baby growing safely inside of me that he was enough. That he was the greatest gift from God. And that I loved him more than he would ever be able to comprehend. 

So during the crazy labor and birth experience we had, I hoped he would remember those words that I echoed to him on a daily basis, so that we could get through it together. And he did! He remembered. Because even though he was scared, and even though I was scared too, he fought really damn hard to get better as quickly as he could so that he could finally feel my arms wrapped around him. Feel safe again. 

To this day, there are moments when I'm kissing Roux on his forehead and telling him that I love him and am brought back to those first moments of the first time I pressed my lips to his forehead and told him, "We did it baby boy. You did it. You're so strong! And I love you with all of my heart. I will see you so soon." And they whisked him away. And from that moment all I wanted was my baby bear. My little Roux. 

It would be hours before I got to see him and hold him again. Agonizing. Terrified. Exhausting. Empty. More lonely than I had ever felt in my life. The seconds on the clock never moved so slow.

The moment I had him back in my arms, I never wanted to let him go again. My sweet, sweet boy.

He was okay. He was healthy. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

And it's all that's mattered since.

Two years of love and growth and nurturing. Two years of breastfeeding and sleepless nights. Two years of stinky diapers. Two years of bath times and shower times. Two years of his little fingers digging into my plate of food. Two years of watching my little Roux Bear becoming his own little person. Running around with his big sissy and big brother, being goons and having a blast. Causing a riot on a daily basis. Screaming the loudest scream I've ever heard in my life, also on a daily basis for one reason or another.

We sure went through a lot during the pregnancy, and the weeks that followed the birth. But I'm extremely proud and very honored to be where we are now, surrounded by family, no longer alone. No more struggling and suffering. Just being the family we were meant to be.

I get to show him the sunshine. And we say "hi moon!" When the moon is out. He sings his little songs, and dances his little dances, and runs around with nothing on as I chase him around the house with a diaper in my hand. He screams and screams when he hears the word "no" and I make sure he doesn't hurt himself when he throws himself down into a tantrum. 

I think this year will be full of nature and camping/hiking trips, picnic on the beach days, and obviously more time spent with family. More growth and, yes, more tantrums.

If only these seconds we share now were as slow as the ones I waited on to have you in my arms again at the hospital.

Sweet, little Roux. I love you so.

Happiest of birthdays to you, my baby. Already 2!