Some reflections about my FOUR year old

A few days ago, I left some pasta in the car for about ten minutes. Before picking Gabriel up from school, Adrian and I had met up at Olive Garden for a lunch date with Jonas. Gabriel is ALWAYS hungry, so I knew he would want some of my leftovers when he got home. I told him I would go get them from the car and he said, "No mom, it's okay. I'll get them. Can I have your keys please?"

He took the keys from me and walked out of the door as I watched from the window. He clicked the unlock button on the key remote, opened up the car door and grabbed the pasta. He crawled back out, juggling the pasta and keys in one hand while steadying himself with the other.



Out of the blue, my eyes started welling up and I was so overwhelmed by FEELINGS. Lots of feelings that I can't describe. Mostly joy. Pride. Fear. A lot of nostalgia. This moment was so commonplace - so ordinary and uneventful - yet so everything. Here he is, right before my eyes, turning in to this kid, this boy, and I'm afraid that if I blink, my eyes will open and I'll be sitting at his high school graduation.

Once he dropped down from the car, he shut the door, clicked the lock button on the key remote and turned towards the house. As he saw me looking through the window, he smiled and waved. "Hi mom!" He opened up the door and said, "I got it!"

He's this kid who does puzzles on his own, puts his plate in the sink, chooses his outfits and spells his name. He can tell you my phone number and which way right and left point. He knows the way to my parents' and my nana's house and likes to repeat random phrases from movies.

All of these things that I'm so damn proud of but then I just want to say, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, buddy. Let's take our time moving through life. Let's pump the breaks a bit and enjoy the view." I feel like I blinked and here I am, a mother of two, the mother of a FOUR YEAR OLD. WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN.

Today, on his fourth birthday (or rather, the eve, as I sit and write), it's impossible not to sit here and think about the day he made me a mother. Never in my wildest dreams did I have any idea that this 7lb 9oz. bundle of screaming joy would bring me such pleasure and yet, such pain. Pain of the heart. Heartsick. Lovesick.

I remember getting out of surgery, after my C-section, and sitting in the recovery room. It is a requirement at the hospital where I gave birth to enforce the mothers to wait TWO WHOLE HOURS before meeting their babies while they allow the drugs to wear off. And even then? You are at the mercy of the nurses who proceeded to wait another hour to bring him to me.

I sat there in that bed, willing my toes to move, just bend a little, so that I could try to convince them to bring my baby to me. There was nothing in that moment - or any after that he has blessed me with - that I have ever wanted more than to see his face. To touch the soft skin of his cheek. To take a whiff of that addicting new baby smell.

As in life, not every day is perfect. This child is sensitive, strong willed and sometimes just plain out of control. He tests my boundaries not daily, but moment-to-moment.

But that kid.

I keep telling him, "Gabriel, I really need you to just push pause right now and stay three forever." And he looks at me and says, "But Moooooom (like a teenager), I have to get big and grow up just like my Dad!" And then all of a sudden grandbabies and weddings flash before my eyes and I get really dizzy.

Happy birthday, my baby. You are so loved.