Six years ago I went to the hospital for a scheduled C-section and came home with you!
I remember lying on the operating table, drugs keeping from feeling any pain, as the doctor quickly opened me, delivered you and sewed me back up again in about 10 minutes flat. When they set you next to me in a little bassinet, you had already been cleaned and swaddled up in one of those ubiquitous, pastel-striped, hospital baby blankets. You wriggled and squirmed, grunting little baby grunts, while your father teared up--'cause he can be a softie sometimes.
I didn't cry, but I was happy to see you after all that time inside me. Maybe it was your own happy spirit wearing off on me. Just like this morning when I asked you how your birthday pancakes were, and instead of answering me, you looked at me, smiled and gave me a "thumbs-up".
You've grown into a joyful, smart, child that can surprise me with incredible insights at the most bizarre moments, like just last night. There we were eating tacos and talking about birthdays, which of course leads to the question about how old God is--naturally what every six-year-old is thinking about, right?
Your brother said God was at least a trillion years old, and that Jesus was only 2008 years old, and out you come with: "No....God is infinity. Think of the highest number you can think of and keep adding one more."
Yes...God is infinity, little one.
And so is my love for you!