However, as I look at my life at the present time, I'm starting to see that the story, in fact, may be pretty close to what the future holds for me and my "baby."
Today Stephen is thirteen years old. He is only a couple of inches shorter than me, and outweighs me considerably. And he still sits in my lap, and we rock back and forth. As long as I'm living...my baby he'll be. Literally.
My thirteen year old son still isn't potty-trained. He gets tummy aches and cries like a colicky newborn. He throws temper tantrums like a toddler. His face is still babyish, his hands small and soft.
This picture was taken about a month ago. He cuddled up to me and I was struck by how young he still looked.
Even though today is his birthday, we're not having a party, or even doing anything different. This is the first year we've done this, but after thinking about it a lot, this is the best way. We just got over Christmas and its barrage of sensory input and presents out of nowhere. Stephen still gets a weekly "surprise" from the mailbox, so really, we celebrate 52 weeks a year. He doesn't eat cake, and having parties just stresses everyone out. So, we'll defy convention, and even though David and I whispered, "Happy Birthday" to our son, that will be the extent of the celebration this year.
I love you forever, my little man-child. I will hold you and rock you back and forth, back and forth, as long as my arms have strength.
