My beautiful boy turns four today. I still feel like it’s only been months since I first met him, fat and red and looking eerily like my grandfather.
I was so much more terrified the second time I realized I was pregnant because it was more real. I knew what I was getting myself into that time, and it seemed overwhelming. But someone up above must have been looking out for me, because they gave me the easiest, sweetest baby to care for. My husband was dead set on naming him “Ari,” a strong Jewish name, but I had a dream that his name was Gabriel, well before I even knew he was a boy, and that was it. It’s telling that he shares his name with an angel. A firm believer in signs, I knew it would fit his personality and it does.
He is full of joy, and greets each day with a huge smile and a positive attitude. There are no bad days; he welcomes every experience as if it’s the most exciting thing he’s ever been part of. He has been insanely excited about his birthday, and because his sense of time is still a little shaky, he has been asking me all week, in an astonished voice, “Is it still my birthday?!”
I know a time will come when he is too heavy for me to carry, or he shrugs off my kisses and cuddles, but for now, I’m relishing every affectionate moment with my “baby.” I feel lucky every single day to be his mother, and I’m trying my best to raise him in a way that honors and protects his sweet sensitivity.
Happy birthday, Gabriel! You’re the light of our little family, the balance to the rest of our more intense personalities. May this fourth year be full of bike rides, ball games, bean and cheese burritos, books about trucks and everything else that brings a smile to your face.