His Golden Year

He’s 6. Gosh. Six years old, our baby is.
Six. On the sixth.

It’s his golden day. And man, does the boy have a special shine to him.

I held him, just yesterday, I think, right?

It had to have been. Because I can remember it, just like that. In my arms, momentarily. Right after he made his grand reveal. The list kept growing. They told us he had a few issues. He’s IUGR. He’s jaundiced. His testacle didn’t drop, there’s surgery for that. His fingers are webbed, there’s surgery for that. He may have t.fistula, there’s surgery for that. We want to run some tests to rule out Spina Bifida. I remember it all. And crying. And crying. And crying. And being absolutely stunned with fear. Confused about all of it. And thinking that this was not the birth experience I ordered. The one we’d planned for.

But just like that, it was the three of us. And he was captaining our ship.

And it was crazy because time… time just began passing. The first year was the longest. I am certain it actually had to have had two times as many months in it. The screaming. Oy. The screaming. And then, he was one.

But they didn’t come to take him back. I thought they might. Because for a bit, it felt as though we were playing house that first year. Cutting our teeth on him. Being put through the ringer. And then, we ate cake and decided he’d stay for good. And time… it kept passing. And as quick as a wink, two candles.

And he became our every thought. Our whole world, really. And time… time kept on moving forward. And before we could turn back time, we were at three.

And then, without even asking, he turned four. Which soon became my oh-so-favorite age. He was everything I’d ever wanted a four year old to be and I’d never even known what a four year old could be.

And then, time sped up I think. There had to have been days removed. Subtracted for us taking so many extra in the first year. And somehow, it felt like we’d arrived. When he blew out 5 candles. And I could have stayed right there. With him, just like he was.

But time didn’t stop. Or at least it must not have. Because we’re back to this day again. February 6th. And he, the wildly fascinating Mr. Barrett, is six. And as much as I don’t always want him to grow, I am continuously finding myself more enamored with this kid with each trip around the sun.

And now I know. I know. It didn’t have to go as planned. That very beginning. The first year. Any of it. Because he’s been perfect all along. Just the right amount of everything needed to make him Barrett. Perfectly Barrett.

At six, Barrett is sassy. Creative. Soulful. Charming. Articulate. He loves to read. And instruct. He loves to sing. And construct. He’s independent. And he loves to run. He is curious. And inquisitive. He makes me think, every day. He believes he is his middle brother’s third parent. He is loving. Tender. And amenable. He is concerned about the world around him. He just wants to see people happy and loved. His dancing is a riot. He is totally nuts about school. And writing bubble letters. And, in true 6 year old fashion, he is as silly as the day is long.

He’s let us test the waters with him. Of this whole parenthood thing. For six years. And we’ve all survived it, together. What a pleasure it is to not only know this kid, but to know he’s ours.

Happy birthday, double B. It feels like we’ve been to the moon and back… and of course, we’ve loved you all the way.