Scooter Man is nine today. Nine years ago I watched the Twin Towers fall and wondered at the world I was bringing my second baby into. He tried to come several weeks early after a car wreck, but he and I held out until he was only four weeks early. I watched Kipper while I was in labor, because every other channel was still showing Ground Zero footage 24–7, and I couldn’t bear it. Unlike my first baby, his delivery was calm and controlled, even with the entire NICU team watching and knowing I was giving birth to a preemie with meconium. What a relief to see him, healthy and strong at 36 weeks!
When he turned two, his sister was baptized and I found out he was going to be a big brother. (It was a busy week.) I made him stop taking naps because he couldn’t both nap during the day and go to sleep before 10 pm. One of his first words was “Bonine,” the medicine I took to keep from throwing up my toenails when I was pregnant with his sister.
When he was six, he became a believer in Jesus and his Daddy baptized him at our church. When he was eight, he had his first spend the night birthday party out in the camper in our driveway.
Now he is nine. Poptarts for breakfast, bowling in the morning, lunch with his grandfather, ramen noodles and brownies for a birthday dinner before soccer practice (his choice of meals, not mine, believe me)–a day on the go for a boy in perpetual motion. What a blessing he has been in our lives. Happy birthday, son.