Ready for Take-off
Dear Kaleb,
It's the eve of your birthday, and tomorrow morning we will open our eyes and you will be three. I am so proud of you, Buddy. I could list your many accomplishments. I could describe your winning personality. But I think most people who know you already know those things. Instead, I want to say this: We made it! We did it! We're doing it!
Three feels like a huge milestone as you transition from Early Intervention to preschool, my baby-now-grown-boy. No more home visits from your wonderful team of therapists. We've swapped IFSPs for IEPs, a small Early Intervention group for a large Early Learning Center. We first walked through those Elementary school doors about three months ago, and you cried and put up your arms when all the big kids rushed the hall on their way to recess. I scooped you up and held you close, wondering what we were doing there, wishing you could stay two.
Two weeks ago we visited your preschool classroom. When we walked in the building this time, the special ed teacher put out her hand for you and you grabbed it with confidence. I walked a few paces behind and watched the two of you march down that hall with certain authority. Your feet may not touch the ground when you sit in your chair. The kids are all twice your size or more. But you are not intimidated. You worked yourself right into the mix of friends in your class, accidentally plopping your bottom on the pages of one boy's book, smiling at another boy who silently peered into your face trying to figure out who the new kid was. I realized (with a twinge of sadness) that you're going to be just fine without us--me, Daddy, your sisters, and our EI pals. You're ready to launch, even if I'm not ready to let you go just yet.
Saying goodbye to Ms. M., your PT, was hard today. She made your very last home visit and watching her walk down our sidewalk for the last time felt a lot like the day I came home from the hospital with each of you. I could hardly believe the hospital staff would let me leave with you guys. How can any new parent be trusted with a brand new human being? And today I wondered, "How will I know if I'm doing it right? Doing right by you? Who will check in, observe, let me know? No one!" There was a fleeting wave of panic I didn't like, so I traded it in for a different perspective. It's our time to fly with you Buddy, your time to soar. You're ready for take-off, and we're going to be great.
I told Daddy the other night that these three years have flown by and yet the distance between here and there is ocean vast. We are different people, Daddy and I. We have traveled many miles of heartache, joy, and healing; and we both say that this is the best place, the very best place we've been so far. We miss your sweet baby coos and your soft fuzzy head, but we don't really want to turn back the clock because we love watching you make your way in the world: saying new words every day now that the tubes in your ears make your world more precise, working on running and jumping, doing puzzles, and playing pretend, and mostly, just being a part of our everyday family life--one of us, laughing at the dinner table and snuggling on the couch, playing with your sisters and taking care of the puppy. We see you becoming a kid. A big boy.
There are three things you should know on your third birthday, pal:
1. God has given you so many wonderful gifts, and you will do remarkable things with them. Ms. M. told me as she left today that you have amazing potential, that you're going to do great things. You'll be famous, she said. She meant that.
2. You have our hearts.
3. We have your back--there may be times when people will tell you you can't; we're your eye-witnesses, here to tell them you can and you will. You have a full cheering squad for a family and a bevy of friends up in the stands.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank God for the gift you are to me. To us. From the time I knew I wanted to be a mother, to raise children of my own, I dreamed of having a son. I remember a day in late fall when my belly fast grew with you. My friend Becky told me as I climbed into the van with your sisters already buckled in the back seat, "You're going to love it. Having a boy. There's something special about a son."
I never forgot those words, and I thought of them the day you were born, when my conviction was weak and my spirit was low. How could I have known how wonderful it would be? How remarkable you would be? Loving you has changed my vision of the world, my faith, and my ability to walk forward in this life without fear. Those lessons are good. And they are important. But they pale next to the simple, beautiful fact that you are our boy--Kaleb--and we love you just exactly as you are, without lessons or fanfare.
That January 29 the nurse placed you in my arms for the first time was a game-changer to be sure. And if I could go back to that delivery room and tell the woman-I-was-then one thing, it would be this: Look at your son. Set worry and fear aside. All is well. It's better than good, better than grand. This life. This boy. This third and final gift. Open mind. Open arms. Open heart. Just like you, Buddy. I guess I needed you to show me that, because Open seems to come naturally to you.
Each morning, we feel your arms around our legs. "Bup!" you command. It's a hug you're after. You rest your head on our shoulders and pat our backs. Then you pop up again, reach for whoever isn't holding you. You grab Daddy and I into one big group hug, and each evening when Dad comes home, you repeat the ritual. With one arm around each of us, you look up into our faces, grin and laugh, plant a kiss on each of our cheeks, and nestle your head into one of our necks. It's one of my favorite moments of our day together--the three of us held tight together inside that circle. You open your arms. You draw us in. You hold us close. And Daddy and I are so thrilled to share our lives with you.
Bubby-boo, Buddy, Little Man, Big Guy, K-Love: You open our world. Fill our hearts to overflowing. Quite simply, you amaze us. Happy third birthday my sweet, beautiful son.
 |
| 1.5 |
Three feels like a huge milestone as you transition from Early Intervention to preschool, my baby-now-grown-boy. No more home visits from your wonderful team of therapists. We've swapped IFSPs for IEPs, a small Early Intervention group for a large Early Learning Center. We first walked through those Elementary school doors about three months ago, and you cried and put up your arms when all the big kids rushed the hall on their way to recess. I scooped you up and held you close, wondering what we were doing there, wishing you could stay two.
 |
| 2.5 |
Saying goodbye to Ms. M., your PT, was hard today. She made your very last home visit and watching her walk down our sidewalk for the last time felt a lot like the day I came home from the hospital with each of you. I could hardly believe the hospital staff would let me leave with you guys. How can any new parent be trusted with a brand new human being? And today I wondered, "How will I know if I'm doing it right? Doing right by you? Who will check in, observe, let me know? No one!" There was a fleeting wave of panic I didn't like, so I traded it in for a different perspective. It's our time to fly with you Buddy, your time to soar. You're ready for take-off, and we're going to be great.
I told Daddy the other night that these three years have flown by and yet the distance between here and there is ocean vast. We are different people, Daddy and I. We have traveled many miles of heartache, joy, and healing; and we both say that this is the best place, the very best place we've been so far. We miss your sweet baby coos and your soft fuzzy head, but we don't really want to turn back the clock because we love watching you make your way in the world: saying new words every day now that the tubes in your ears make your world more precise, working on running and jumping, doing puzzles, and playing pretend, and mostly, just being a part of our everyday family life--one of us, laughing at the dinner table and snuggling on the couch, playing with your sisters and taking care of the puppy. We see you becoming a kid. A big boy.
There are three things you should know on your third birthday, pal:
1. God has given you so many wonderful gifts, and you will do remarkable things with them. Ms. M. told me as she left today that you have amazing potential, that you're going to do great things. You'll be famous, she said. She meant that.
 |
| 8 mos |
3. We have your back--there may be times when people will tell you you can't; we're your eye-witnesses, here to tell them you can and you will. You have a full cheering squad for a family and a bevy of friends up in the stands.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank God for the gift you are to me. To us. From the time I knew I wanted to be a mother, to raise children of my own, I dreamed of having a son. I remember a day in late fall when my belly fast grew with you. My friend Becky told me as I climbed into the van with your sisters already buckled in the back seat, "You're going to love it. Having a boy. There's something special about a son."
 |
| 1 wk |
That January 29 the nurse placed you in my arms for the first time was a game-changer to be sure. And if I could go back to that delivery room and tell the woman-I-was-then one thing, it would be this: Look at your son. Set worry and fear aside. All is well. It's better than good, better than grand. This life. This boy. This third and final gift. Open mind. Open arms. Open heart. Just like you, Buddy. I guess I needed you to show me that, because Open seems to come naturally to you.
Each morning, we feel your arms around our legs. "Bup!" you command. It's a hug you're after. You rest your head on our shoulders and pat our backs. Then you pop up again, reach for whoever isn't holding you. You grab Daddy and I into one big group hug, and each evening when Dad comes home, you repeat the ritual. With one arm around each of us, you look up into our faces, grin and laugh, plant a kiss on each of our cheeks, and nestle your head into one of our necks. It's one of my favorite moments of our day together--the three of us held tight together inside that circle. You open your arms. You draw us in. You hold us close. And Daddy and I are so thrilled to share our lives with you.
Bubby-boo, Buddy, Little Man, Big Guy, K-Love: You open our world. Fill our hearts to overflowing. Quite simply, you amaze us. Happy third birthday my sweet, beautiful son.
 |
| 2.75 |