We are celebrating another birthday! Our baby, Z, is officially eight years old. Of course he has informed me that just because he is the youngest, that does not mean he’s the baby. He’s right. He hasn’t been a baby since he starting walking/running/climbing at not quite eleven months. I thought he might be a genius because he could outsmart all of the rest of us at least ten times daily by the time he turned two.
Z’s probably not a genius, but he is smart. That is in part because he has been involved with homeschooling since before he was born. He’s playful, friendly, funny, and caring. He tries to be helpful (sometimes). He has quite a bit of confidence in himself and is a little more independent and mature than his years would suggest.
On Z’s birthday I reflect back to his birth. Every little part of that day is etched on my heart. I want to spare my male readers the details, so will only share a little about it.
It was a gorgeous day. We had the windows open. Labor was fun. I was attended by my two best friends and my husband. My A, E, and B were outside playing throughout the morning and afternoon. They would come in occasionally to check on me then go out again. Everyone took turns taking care of almost two year old J. We made a birthday cake and put chicken on to cook for supper later. The day was filled with so much love, Scripture, music, wonderful conversation and prayer.
As labor started to get intense we sent the three boys to the neighbors house and the neighbor girls came over to hang out with E, right outside the open bedroom window. About an half an hour later we got to meet our Z and welcome him to the world.
Z was our third homebirth. I could not wish for any better memories. I believe this was a safe, blessed, and perfect way to bring him into the world. If I had it to do again, I wouldn’t change a single thing.
Baby Z was such a gift and a joy. And so he still is at eight!