I can't believe he's eight already. Lance's due date was December 13, and I had planned on getting all my lessons ready for when I was on maternity leave over the Thanksgiving weekend. The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I was in the office at school and felt some leaking. Later at my regularly scheduled doctor's appointment I mentioned that small detail. The doctor checked and much to my surprise she told me that I needed to check into the hospital. Three weeks early! What!? I was not even ready at school for the next day, let alone for the next few months. But there was no stopping. I checked into the hospital at about 4 p.m. on Tuesday and at 4:10 a.m. (after only about twenty minutes of pushing) on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I brought forth my first born son. Six pounds, ten ounces, 19 inches long, the spitting image of his father. I was overwhelmed with happiness when they put him in my arms, sobbing actually. I was a mother, and he was my beautiful baby boy.
Now he is eight years old. Still sweet, still beautiful. I love his personality and his sense of humor. He's smart and friendly and a good boy 95% of the time. He wants to be an author and illustrator someday, but I think he could be great at anything. He likes to try new things and has done baseball, basketball, tennis, tumbling and a few piano lessons. I feel so blessed to be the mother of this wonderful child.