I gave birth to a child 11 years ago today!
11 years ago, I was hugely pregnant with a baby kicking in my belly. And it was Brian.
11 years ago, plus a few days, I brought this tiny, red-haired stranger whose skin was still vaguely yellow from jaundice (my blood type is O Neg, which makes me the universal donor, although I cannot donate blood, and which means that there is a 95% chance that any child I bear will have a blood type that is incompatible with mine, resulting in jaundice shortly after birth), whose eyes were a clear, slate blue, who smelled like a freshly baked loaf of…human, who wriggled out of my arms when I tried to snuggle with him, shocking me with his strength, whose long, slender limbs also shocked me (since I had theretofore believed that all babies came with chubby thighs with little folds), whose personality, and needs, and wants, were all a gigantic question mark to me.
I cannot believe that my 11 year old son has bigger feet than mine. And more freckles. And bigger eyes. And can throw a 53 mph fastball. And plays the flute with grace. And gets perfect scores on his standardized tests (well, the math ones, at least). And no longer wriggles away when I try to snuggle with him…as long as no one else is there.
Happy Birthday, Smooge (pronounced “smoozh”)