It feels like yesterday that I was in a Chicago cab for my best friend’s bachelorette, drunkenly proclaiming my hopes that the pregnancy test I would take in 2 weeks would be positive.

It feels like yesterday when I announced the news to my sister who was nursing her 4 week old at 6 am, that I had taken a pregnancy test and there were 2 very clear and vivid lines.

It feels like yesterday that I nervously navigated the downtown Chicago streets to my OB’s office after I started bleeding, only to have my fears washed away by the sight of the tiniest blip on a black and white screen.

It seems like yesterday that I was laid up on a couch in our  Chicago apartment, afraid to move and saying the serenity prayer with my eyes closed tight, while your dad took care of everything else.

It feels like yesterday when I took my first breath of relief and began to enjoy my pregnancy with you.

 

It feels like yesterday when they finally put you in my arms and my life began.

I look back on those first weeks after we brought you home and laugh about how nervous we once were.  I didn’t want my mom to leave.  I cried every night she was there, knowing her visit would end soon and I would have to be a big girl.

I laugh about your Dad.  I see this unsure new father holding a stranger.  He didn’t know what he was doing and I didn’t mind to tell him one bit (much to his dismay, I’m sure).   In three years, he’s evolved into the best father and my heart nearly explodes watching him interact with you.

There are times all too often when I’ve heard the 50th “Mommy” and it makes me cringe, the “I needs” and “I wants” irritate the sliver of patience I have left, the word “No” turns on me, and it feels like there’s not a nap time long enough for me to regroup.  After we say our prayers and read our bedtime story (which now you happily recite along with me and I beam as I watch you), I sneak in later for one more goodnight kiss.  It is then that I am once again renewed by the sight of you.  I see you sleeping and am aware of the blessing I prayed, wished, and hoped for.

This motherhood thing…it’s not for the faint of heart.
People talk about giving birth like it’s the real challenge…but
really, it’s the next 18 years of making decisions and then questioning them.  That kind of mind game is torture.  It’s hard raising
the first child.  They are the guinea pig of parenting and
unfortunately, will be the victim of the strictest rules and toughest
punishments.

My sweet Noah, I try every day to be the mommy you deserve.  The one you
call out for in the middle of the night after a bad dream, the one you
proudly show your art work to, the one that you sing your 50th take of
“Wheels on the Bus” to, the one whose lap you never want to leave and arms
you always want wrapped around you.  I try and will never stop trying
because I live for the moments when your smile reaches your eyes, you laugh so hard that it turns into hiccups, and your infectious happiness finds its way to my soul.

You are more than I ever knew I hoped for and I am so proud to have a front seat to the rest of your life.  I  have no idea who you will be or what you will become, but without a shred of uncertainty, I will be there (wearing my “Proud Mom” badge) for it all.

 

Happiest Third Birthday to my sweet Noah Duggan Canfield.

Now please, go poo-poo on the damn potty!