Twelve

Today is a special day. Today is the day, 12 years ago, that our son was born.

A squawling, raucous, chubby boy with ruddy curls greeted us after only three pushes. Three pushes to bring to this world an almost-10 lb.package of pure love and joy.

I was so excited when I became pregnant with Dee, because now Em wouldn't be an only child, and because now we'd have a girl AND a boy, and I felt like it was finally "right". And it was right. So very right.

Four months into his life, we were devastated when our cherub was diagnosed with cancer. And our lives changed forever. I cried every day during that year of chemo treatments and surgery after surgery. Somehow I had enough tears.

One of our greatest fears through all this was that, although he was just a tiny baby, he would somehow retain memories of this most awful time in his life (if he even survived), and would forever be marred in unforgivable, haunting ways. As it turns out, Dee is one of the happiest souls traipsing through this world. He has a thorough and deep love of life, is excited at every new adventure life hands him, and, although he does have some fears, they are in no way out of the ordinary.

Dee is in Grade 6 now, plays hockey, is as athletic as they come, and sings when he does his chores.

I often wondered if we would ever even reach Kindergarten with him, his health being as precarious as it was. We almost lost him more than once back then.

But here he is, giving his sister grief at every opportunity (as is his job as little brother), giving me hugs, still snuggling up to me whenever he gets the chance.

He's growing up so fast, and I often can't believe he's now 12. I suppose that's because he will always be my baby. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.