This month my son turned twelve.
I shed a few tears as I watched him sleep on the eve of his birthday. Looking at him now, you would have never guessed he had such a hard time at birth.
I have flashbacks of all the nights I stayed up crying because I could not bring him home — the memories of the anticipated trips to Huntsville Hospital for Women and Children. I remember how small and fragile he looked and how painful it was to leave him after every visit. I recall not sleeping much in the first year. Waking up throughout the night to make sure he was still breathing. I remember the anxiety every time I left for work, like a giant rock crushing me all day till I got home.
Looking at him now healthy, grown and full of life, it gives me the greatest sensation I cannot describe. I am thankful to have these past twelve years of memories with him, and I am looking forward to a lifetime more.
Happy Birthday to all the March babies.
— Cinthia Rico is a staff writer for the Times-Journal. Her email is firstname.lastname@example.org.