Happy 28th Birthday to My Middle Son

Today is the birthday of our middle son, #3 of our five, who joined our family when his older brothers were 2 and 1/2 and 15 months.  (Three kids in 2 and 1/2 years: shouldn't there be a special name for that, like "Irish triplets" or something?)

When this sweet baby boy was born, his father and I were not even 28 yet ourselves (we would both celebrate our 28th birthdays within a few months of his birth).  And now he's turning 28!  It's utterly mind-boggling.  (Did you read my posts yesterday, and the day before?  And here I am again, talking about time, and its apparent ability to fly--at supersonic speeds.  That appears to be my theme this week!)

When this happy-go-lucky, the glass is always half-full, eternally optimistic lad of ours, with the twinkliest blue eyes, the sunniest smile, and the most infectious laugh you've ever heard--not to mention an impressive encyclopedic knowledge of all things sports-related--was born, his father was young and gorgeous and tan...and moustachioed (along with every other young Naval aviator we knew back then).

His mother was young and tired-looking (three babies in 2 and 1/2 years, remember?) and liked to wear glasses the size of ski goggles (and over which no ski goggles on earth would ever fit).  She was on a cloud when this picture was taken--don't let her haggard appearance fool you--and already totally in love with her newest little angel.

At 9 lbs. 13 oz. and 22" long, he was a big 'un, but it was a relatively easy labor and delivery.  In fact, as I was lying on a gurney being wheeled from the labor room to the delivery room, the nurse was assuring me that baby #3 would be born "any time now," but I didn't really even feel like it was all that close!  And I remember saying to my husband, "They better not be messing with me!"  (They weren't.)  The only tough part was at the very end, when it appeared that his shoulders were too big and the doctor might have to break them so that he could make it through the birth canal.  But luckily, that didn't end up being necessary.

However, he had a bit of fluid in his lungs from the distress of being hung up for a bit, so they whisked him down to the nursery for about six hours.  My arms were achingly empty and I missed him so much that I didn't sleep a wink waiting to get him back in the room with me.  (Thus the very puffy-eyed, sleep-deprived countenance in the above picture.)  But while he was down in the nursery, his big brothers got to go and get a peek at him through the window.

Babies checking out babies!  They were so young themselves to be thrust into big brother roles.  But it's amazing that when #3 was a newborn, suddenly these two little towheads looked like giants to me.

Son #3 has always loved perusing a good photo album.  I used to keep them up-to-date, back in the olden days before the dawn of digital photography (which makes it so easy to take thousands of pictures, but so hard to decide which ones to print and put into albums).  So I thought he might enjoy this little look back at the day he was born--he probably hasn't seen these grainy snapshots in years.  (Happy Birthday to you!  You're welcome!)

The amazing thing is that in a matter of about five months, this middle son of ours is going to become a daddy himself!  Wasn't he just born--I don't know, yesterday?

He was an easy baby--so quiet and content in his little infant seat, as his older brothers squealed and yelled while they played and/or fought, that we even worried that he might be deaf.  Nope.  His hearing was perfect.  He was just that easy-going.  That personality trait was there from the very beginning.  Life was good for that little man.  He was--and still is--a pretty happy camper. 

I love this boy, to the moon and back.  He has been a complete joy to his dad and me since this momentous date in 1986, when he came into our lives and made the whole world a better place.