Yesterday marked a major milestone in my life. My eldest son turned 18. For the last 18 years I have dreaded this day, wishing it to stay away a few more days, a few more moments.
I remember SO vividly the feeling of utter fear as my water broke 8 weeks earlier than expected. I remember the panic rising in my throat and whispering to my baby 'not yet! It's too soon, too sudden!' I remember the car ride to the hospital and praying, begging God to PLEASE, let him be ok, let my baby live through this.
36 hours later, my son made his entrance into this world, screaming to my relief, showing us that indeed, his lungs were ready for this life.
Those first 12 days were stressful, sleepless, panicked, prayerful, and hopeful. My baby made it, and he grew, and he learned, and he loved and was loved.
He's a great son. A great brother. A great friend. And a great young man. I'm so proud of the person he's become and of the things he accomplished. I know he will be successful in all that he does, and I am excited to see what the next 18 years hold for him.