4:21

This morning I woke up early for no reason. Wide awake, I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. It was 4:20. I waited for it to turn to 4:21 and thought about what I was doing seven years ago to the second. I was giving birth to my first born child on the third floor of St. Vincent's hospital in Portland, OR. A picture perfect delivery of an even more perfect baby boy. I was tempted to sneak into his room and wake him up for the occasion but decided that I would use the moment instead to get on my knees and thank God for this child who turned me into a mommy. Even now as I type this I cry thinking about the moment I met Jack.

He came three and a half weeks early but was over 7 pounds. Since we lived away from all of our family It was just me and John and the hospital staff. I wanted to show him to the world. I wanted every human being on earth to see my perfect baby. It still blows my mind that billions and billions of people have had this experience and yet it is just as miraculous and awe inspiring every time.

Jack was delivered upon my first practice push and I literally didn't have even one sensation of pain throughout the entire experience (not counting the level four tear that I was unaware of initially.) He cried for a few seconds, they put him on my chest and he just looked deep into my eyes and nursed. From the beginning, he always seemed to make deliberate and soulful eye-contact. He was beautiful. The easy labor and delivery left him unswollen and unblemished with a perfect round head of sandy hair.

The first thing I said was "John! He looks like you!" John said, "But he has lips!" This is a perfect conversation to start out this kid's life because over the seven years I see so many ways that he got the best of each of his parents. I love that kid. I love both of my kids. I feel equal intensity of emotion for each of them but there is something about that first born baby that makes an impression on a mother's heart like nothing else. Happy Birthday, Jack.