... our youngest child, Timothy Joel, was born.
And although he was a surprise to us, I can't imagine living the past eleven years without this sweet, funny, smart, kind-hearted boy in our lives.
I was nearly 32-years-old when I learned I was pregnant with Timothy, and I honestly thought my child-birthing days were behind me. If I'd had any doubts at all, that pregnancy and birth cinched it for me. I know it's common these days to wait until your thirties to have children, but I must say, giving birth at 32 was far more difficult than it had been in my twenties. Maybe my body was just worn out from the process of raising my first three, but for the first time ever, I pleaded and begged for an epidural that day, only to be told, "no," for reasons I have yet to understand.
At any rate, we both survived it. What seemed like eternity was actually less than nine hours of labor, and finally, Timothy was born. We couldn't have been happier to welcome him into our family.
Watching him grow has been endlessly entertaining. He has an "old soul" quality about him at times. Like the day he came home from the second grade and solemnly handed me a long, white envelope:
"This is unfortunate," he said, with a dead-serious look of concern.
Thinking he was in some sort of trouble, I opened the envelope with some trepidation, only to find it was... our school lunch bill. LoL
And here he is, eleven years old already. He's growing up. Faster than I can believe. I admit, sometimes I baby him. We all do, in fact, but I guess that's only natural -- as long as we know where to draw the line. I think it's just an attempt to hold on to that sweet little boy who lights up our days with his smile, his laugh, his sense of humor and loving heart.
But then those are things he'll never outgrow. We love you, Tim!!
Late Night Knitting Report – Jan 19, 2018
3 hours ago