Thirteen years ago this very night....

I sat by myself in my now "old" family room. Sat in a big forest green overstuffed armchair that Big Daddy and I had purchased with some of our wedding money just four years prior. It was past midnight, I remember, and I knew I should have been in bed already but I just wanted to sit there for a while. Sit there and eat popsicles and watch t.v. for a little bit in the dark, quiet family room.

Charlie was just a little over 3 years old, Molly about 18 months. I was going to give birth to my third baby, a boy, via c-section early the next morning. The doctor told me "no eating past midnight!" which is like someone telling Heidi Montag "no more plastic surgery!" so hence the popsicles (they don't count as food, right??). I told myself that I'd be sorry the next morning, sorry that I didn't get my big pregnant ass to bed earlier, but I wanted to just be alone for a while, alone with the swimming baby in my belly and a quiet house.

I knew it would be chaotic with three kids ages 3 and under, and I think I realized that this may have been my last chance to experience some absolute peace for a long time. So I grabbed the opportunity (and that box of popsicles) and sat there. Sat there and watched "The Net", starring Sandra Bullock and Dennis Miller, and now I think of them and that movie every year the night before Henry's birthday.

Thirteen years. In the blink of an eye. I remember back then, going to the parks with my babies and thinking that the 5 year olds looked like giants. The idea of having even one teenager, nevermind THREE of them, seemed like a hazy, far off crazy dream.

Henry made me a mommy for the third time, and was an absolute joy baby. He was the baby who actually had to be stirred awake in order to be fed. Yes, I had read about babies like this but always assumed they were birthed exclusively by smooth haired, tiny hipped yoga mamas, women who sang opera to their fetuses and had shabby chic feng shui nurseries. I remember thanking God, profusely, for giving me this sweet giant headed sleeping baby. Charlie had screamed non-stop for the first 13 months of his life, and Molly amazed and stunned me by having her very first flop-on-the-floor tantrum at the ripe old age of 12 months...so this silent, snoozing boy was the most pleasant of surprises.

He woke up with a vengeance some time later, quickly earning the moniker "Mr. Furious", but I will always remember his babyhood as a sweet and quiet time.

Just like I will always take some time, the night before his birthday, to remember that last quiet night he and I shared together with a box of popsicles and a big overstuffed chair.

Happy Birthday to my July baby boy. I love you, H.