Oh Daxie. I can't believe you turn four tomorrow. I'm just awash in a flood of memories of when you were born.
I would love to tell you it was a beautiful time but it was far from that. My birth plan went out the window the morning I found out my water had broken three weeks early. I was given two hours to get myself to the hospital to be induced. There was a chance of infection so you had to come out.
Your father was skiing that day and wouldn't answer his moblie. He just assumed I was calling to see what I wanted to do for dinner, or something inane like that. But no, I was calling in a sheer panic, having a hard time catching my breath because I knew an early baby might mean complications.
Pitocin. No pain medications. No epidural. Even my Doula hasn't seen labor pains that intense. Your head crowns for a little too long. I finally deliver you naturally and we hear no cries. You're not breathing. Your daddy and I stare at one another in terror as the nurses rush in to help. Seconds pass and we hear your meek cry. I realize as I let out a long sigh of relief that I had not been breathing either. You are placed on my chest and I first notice your warmth. You are alive and breathing. What a ride it has already been. I look down to see this incredible chunky blond hair, and lots of it, that looks like it has been styled by Bumble & Bumble products. Your skin has a golden hue - as if you'd just gotten back from the beach (we later learn you have a very high Billirubin count and it would require staying in the hospital an entire week past delivery. Pure torture for the worried new parents.) You were this little surfer dude. And with those huge eyes and little sticky legs scrunched up under your belly as you clung to my chest sleeping soundly, you were also our little tree frog. You were our very own Coqui.
It may have been a rough start for you Dax, but my gosh how you have flourished since then. Three word sentences by 10 months. One hundred words by the age of one. And then mama just stopped counting because your vocabulary, comprehension, and ability to reason was beyond what most one year old children could do (that is, grunt and point).
You were biking by the age of 18 months, holding your breath under water at two (with eyes open), playing drum solos for your adoring girlfriends by the age of three and on skis that same year.
You ask a zillion questions because you want to know things, you are athletically gifted and have an ear for music. You love books. And if you had your choice, you'd ride your bike all day long, down staircases, over ramps, accompanied by your loud and quite realistic motorcycle sounds. You are to the core adventurous and brave. You're one special little guy Daxie and we love you for being you. You will go far, that I'm sure of.
But you know what I love most about you? It's how open your heart is. You have an enormous amount of empathy for others. That's rare to see in a four year old. You'll ask our neighbor Kirk if he's having a good day. You'll wipe away my tears and tell me, Oh sweet mama, everything is going to be OK. You watch out for baby Skylar's safety and well being and you tell your parents how much you love them every day. You make us very, very proud.
Happy birthday Daxie Doo.