In the days and weeks before Cal was born, I remember fretting about running out of milk and the garbage piling up once I was in the hospital in labor. So I spent much of my final days of pregnancy at the store and taking out the trash. Of course, these were really concerns about Abbott and the impending split of my attention and care. And then he was born, effortlessly, almost, the labor, the first month of his baby life. I carried him from room to room in his little moses basket, and he simply slept. It seemed like a miracle.
I've thought back to being seven.
Like he'll be soon, I was a first grader. I remember a lot about that year.
Like him, I saw Star Wars for the first time; I was seven the year it came out. We watched it tonight as his birthday request.
The older he gets, the more certain similarities between the two of us become more pronounced, and that is not always an easy thing.
Every time we get ice cream, he chooses a new flavor, and I love that about him.
He's come home with more love notes from more girls, already, than I care to think about.
He has an almost intuitive understanding of physics, a deep and abiding love for all animals, a fierce temper and a strong silly streak. He would always rather stay home, when given a choice. Right now he plans to buy the house across the street when he's too old to live here.
I want to freeze frame so much of right now.
I cannot possibly imagine loving him more, but I know I will, even as soon as tomorrow. Love grows.