He came into the world through the trap door, as he was completely content to have stayed in my uterus for all of eternity. (For any of you who birthed a baby the way you're supposed to do it, his head was still FREELY FLOATING when the doctor pulled him out the trap door.)
He peed on the doctor as he came out (a final act of protest for dragging him out of his comfortable surroundings).
At 9 pounds, 13 ounces, he was the biggest baby in the nursery.
He also had the most fingers.
(Relax, the eleventh finger was really just a skin tag, about the size of a baby pea and attached to the side of his left pinky finger. The doctor tied it off, and it shriveled up and fell off with in a week or so. He still has a tiny, round, raised area on the side of his pinky where it used to be.)
He was slightly jaundiced and had to take sunbaths.
He didn't latch on properly and did horrible things to my nipples, forcing me to bring in a lactation consultant. And a breast pump.
He spit up gallons. GALLONS. Projectile spit up. We were amazed he could gain weight, he spit up so much.
He blew out a diaper about once a day, shooting poop up the back of his diaper and/or out the legs.
His feet were long and skinny. My first thought when I saw them was that if he were a puppy, we'd return him to the pound, because if he grew into those feet, we wouldn't be able to afford to feed him. He couldn't wear those cute size 0 crib shoes we got as gifts, and he outgrew sleepers at the feet before he did in the length.
He cried every night when he was put to bed, and he cried every morning as soon as his eyes opened.
We thought he was perfect.
Nearly 18 years later, he is graduating. He is number 2 in his class of over 500 students. He has lettered in three sports. He has a full academic scholarship to Missouri State University.
He wears a size 15 shoe and we can't afford to feed him.
You were put on this earth to do great things, my son.
Get out there and show them what you've got.