Five is my favorite number. It has been for as long as I can remember.
Kyle was born on February 5th. Five years ago today.
I actually wanted him to be born on February 3rd because I was born on January 3rd and Mike was born on October 3rd, and I loved the idea of a family of three with those particular birthdays. I was induced (let's just go ahead and talk about that over drinks isntead of over the internet, okay?) and his birthday just wasn't meant to be February 3rd.
He was meant to be born when he was born. I believe that. As Mat Kearny has reminded me, February 5th, a moment like a poem.
This kid is undeniable.
I have always wanted to be a mom. I was naming my kids on the playground in elementary school. I've been dreaming about a little kid ever since I was a little kid. But my dreams were never big enough for Kyle.
He outgrew my dreams the moment they handed him to me. That perfect, calm, cold February evening. Hours of labor, minutes of pushing, they put him on my chest, 6:32pm on February 5, 2009 and my very first thought was:
"He's more beautiful than I ever dreamed he could be."
I could chalk that moment up to hormones or biology and I'd probably be right, but every time I've looked at Kyle since I've thought "He's more beautiful than I ever dreamed he could be."
I wish I could go back to myself at 10 or 15 or the broken age of 18 or the fuzzy age of 21 and see what I was doing on February 5th. That day meant nothing to me then, and it's my favorite day of all days now.
When I was in high school, I got to visit New York City as part of a drill team dance trip. I danced in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (NSync was headlinging!) and I felt so lucky.
When I was in college, each and every time I walked across our unique and special campus, I felt so lucky.
Mike told me he loved me for the first time atop the Empire State Building, and I felt indescribably lucky.
After marrying him and getting knocked up with his kid, we went to our anatomy-scan appointment and the technician pointed to the very boy parts of Kyle and I thought, how how how am I so lucky?
He wakes up so damn early every single morning, pads into our bedroom, taps me on the forehead and whisper-yells, "MOMMY, I'M HUNGRY AND THIRSTY."
And I feel so lucky.
(Might feel even luckier an hour or so later but you know what I mean.)
(Though, really, when do kids start to sleep in?)
He's sunny and bright and beautiful and warm and funny and sweet and kind and hilarious and mine.
That last one, it gets me every time.
Five has always been my favorite number. It's as if the me of long ago just knew.
My perfect five-year-old boy.