On this, your second natal anniversary

Dear Eric,

I can't believe you're turning two! Part of me can barely remember what you were like as a newborn, and part of me feels like you were just born yesterday.

Shortly before you were born, your father started working in Hell. He worked directly under Satan himself. I remember him coming home from work one day and saying he had good news. He told me that the big man said it was OK for him to take time off for your birth. Satan apparently added, "Just make sure he's not born on Mother's Day! Ha ha ha!" (because Mother's Day is the busiest day of the year for restaurants--er, Hell). Anyway, I knew right then and there--sometime in March, probably--that you would be born on Mother's Day.

Saturday May 8th rolled around and you didn't disappoint. I had mild contractions all day long and I was certain that you would make your big debut the next day. That night, as we got all of our things together for the hospital, I told your dad that I'd read about how women who give birth on Mother's day usually get extra pampering and steak dinners and the likes, and wouldn't that be cool. We went to bed thinking that it was the last night of our old life.

Around 3 am, I awoke feeling sick to my stomach. But then, thank god, it went away....only to return a few minutes later and, oh wait, maybe these are REAL contractions. You know, unlike those fake ones I was having the day before. So, let's cut to the chase. After a couple hours of those "real" contractions, we headed to the hospital. And got sent home. Because I didn't know from real contractions.

They told me to go home and rest and eat something--that it could be days before you came. Apparently, these nurses had never been in labor before, or else they would have never suggested to a woman who was in the throes of labor to "rest and eat something." After several more agonizing hours of contractions, a trip back to the hospital (at which point they still wouldn't admit me, but instead wanted me to walk laps) and what felt like a hundred laps around the hospital floor, shuffling like an old man and stopping to have mind numbing contractions and occasionally throw up, they finally admitted me and gave me an epidural.

Now, let's revisit for a moment the part where I mentioned me getting pampered because I had you on Mother's day. That was so wonderful! Well, I can imagine it would have been wonderful. You know, if you'd decided to be born at a reasonable hour. I can remember my mom coming into my room around 10 p.m. and asking the nurse how long she predicted it would be before I gave birth. The nurse told her probably 4 more hours or so. As the nurse was saying that, she gave me an aspirin to take (not sure what the aspirin was supposed to do....like, I'm sorry you've been run over by a Mack Truck, but here, take these two tylenol). As soon as I swallowed the aspirin, I immediately threw up. Then I started shaking uncontrollably, which is apparently The Sign that birth is imminent. You were born at 11:06 p.m.

At first, I wasn't sure how I felt about you.

But, in my defense, you had no eyebrows, dark sideburns, and they made you wear a garden gnome hat. And I was wearing a mu-mu.

I'm not so sure you were very keen on me, either.

Of course I'm only joking. I loved you before I ever laid eyes on you.

Truth be told, at first you were a little boring. It's nothing personal, all babies go through it. It has something to do with the lack of motor skills and all-liquid diet. But we still had lots of fun with you.

And you got bigger and bigger. And more and more entertaining.

Lord knows the past two years haven't always been sunshine and roses. I've certainly seen this face a time or two.

But, I will say this--there hasn't been a dull moment. Being a parent is more everything than I ever possibly imagined it could be: more fun, more rewarding, more exciting, but also more tiring, more tedious, more frustrating.

Every day you amaze me. I never imagined that a less-than-two year old would know every sport known to man and be able to look at a picture of an athlete and know what sport they play by the look of their jersey. I thought I had at least another year or so before you could trump me in a popular vote to switch TLC to ESPN.

I never knew that I would want to learn what every piece of construction equipment is called so that I could save you from the embarrassment of calling everything "truck" or "Bob the Builder."

I never knew that I would actually be willing to eat a piece of food that another person had previously chewed or sucked on and then rejected. But now I know that when there is no garbage can nearby, and no other obvious way to dispose of something, and your choices are eat previously chewed food or hold previously chewed food, it turns out that eating previously chewed food is not so bad after all.

I also forgot that I could love somebody so completely and so unconditionally. Thank you for reminding me. Happy second birthday, baby boy.

Love,

Mommy