Entering Eight

“I love you, Mommy.”

It comes out of nowhere and when I look down (not very far down anymore!) into his wide blue eyes, something catches inside and I can’t breathe. Oh, my boy.

This weekend we are entering 8. Eight years ago I called Jeff at work, “It’s time, babe.” And we stopped and got snacks at the store (!) on our way to the hospital, and as I walked in smiling wearing my oversized sweatshirt the nurses thought I was there to visit not deliver. The whole thing seemed way too simple. Bringing him into the world was so easy, relatively speaking.

But that was the last easy thing about this kid. *tearful smile* Each year as I type a birthday letter to this boy, I inevitably find myself saying, “I’m so sorry, Son.” He challenges me so much, as I look over the past year I always feel he deserves an apology from this ever-failing Mama of his. *sigh*

No need to retell all the tales about this Thursday’s Child but I’ve thought this kid might be the death of me, with his Spark-mind and steel-will and COMPLETE lack of conformity to any sort of social norms. Potty-training almost put me in an asylum and I’m still finding remnants of Boudreaux’s six years later.

But the truth is the way God’s made Dutch has been the death of me, in all the most glorious ways:

The death of my ego. The death of my people-pleasing. The death of my keeping up appearances. The death of my controlling spirit. The death of all that really needs to die.

The truth is, dear Dutch, you have brought life to my soul. You have taught me so much in your eight short years. You have blown away my expectations and showed me new ways to see the world. You have challenged me deeply and made me so happy.

I am fascinated by your brilliant mind. You speak the truth in profound (shocking?) ways. Your thirst for knowledge, for truth is astounding and inspires me every day. Your love for your sister, despite your vast differences, is so tender and sacred. One of my greatest hopes, dreams, prayers for you and Heidi was that you would deeply love each other, and you do.

So much has changed this past year, as you’ve transitioned from Mama’s boy to, so appropriately, Daddy’s boy. In so many ways you have shifted, and it makes my heart soar to see you and Daddy cement that sacred father-son bond. The hours you spend in the yard together, the projects and battles and science experiments. In a lot of ways I’m already left behind. But I love it. And the fact that you still write me love-letters, and still sneak into my bed for snuggles when Daddy’s working late, that you still sit with me for hours and teach me (patiently!) about science, encourages me that our heart-strings are held tightly together.

Every year, on your birthday, I am so keenly aware once again that I am in way over my head with you, my boy. You are a glorious wonderment, and I am so incredibly under-qualified to be your Mama. But I always go back to wise words spoken to me at your baby shower:

“God has called you to be the Mama to this child. He will perfectly equip you and enable you to be the best Mama this boy could ever have. Rest in that.”

So I will. I will stay on my knees and stay in God’s Word and stay by your side, and keep trailing along behind you handing over PB sandwiches as you search the world over for more knowledge, more truth.And I will keep praying daily that all your quests find their end in Him. He is what I want for you most. Above all, I pray you hunger and thirst for Him.

I love you, son. Happy, happy birthday. I’m so thrilled to be with you entering eight. 

{Thanks for reading}