Seven years ago today, I woke up with a back ache which wouldn’t go away. It got worse and worse, and after an hour of shifting positions, it dawned on me that perhaps—just perhaps—I was in labor. I was 40 weeks pregnant, after all. It shouldn’t have taken me that long to work out.
A very hurried two hours later, I held our newborn boy in my arms: slick white, chubby, cooing on my breast. My body was in shock and I, shivering, had a wild, lucid thought flash through my mind:
Pay attention to this moment. Remember the details of this birth, so that it doesn’t get blurred between your first and your last baby.
I remember the thought as a shock: I’d been a mother of two for barely ten minutes, and yet a voice—whose voice?—seemed so confident there would be a third. So, pay attention to this one, the one in the middle, for he is unique. special. God’s good gift to you this day.
This morning, I held that much-bigger-but-still-sweet boy in my arms, whispering Happy Birthday and telling him—as I do every year—the story of his birth. I remember the details and honor him, just like the voice told me too. My second-born, and in no way crowded out, precious middle child.
My friend Kate Motaung hosts a wonderful community of writers who take on a five-minute writing assignments on a Friday. This week the prompt was middle, so how could I not take her up on this? Five minutes of writing to remember, and honor, my boy on his special day 🙂 You can click over to Kate’s lovely site and read more.