My body was filled with your absence.

Last night, dear Nathan, I had the paradoxical experience that most mothers go through sooner or later. In our sleep deprived delirium, we often cry, "Oh! If only you could sleep through the night!" Then, when you actually DO sleep for a longer-than-normal stretch, rather than relishing the sought after sleep, we lay awake in a state of total panic. "Are you okay???"

That's what I was doing at 4am...laying in my bed wide-awake, telling God [in no uncertain terms] that the only option that was at all acceptable was for you to be healthy, happy and sleeping soundly. Life without you, my precious Nathan, is simply not an option. And that's what I told God. And then, believing that he truly is loving and just [and that he's just as wild about you as I am], I asked him for the peace that I'd need to join you in sweet sleep. But, it didn't happen. The momma-in-me just couldn't get free from the grip of fear...so I peeked. I was trying not to, because your door sticks and makes a really loud noise. But, I did get it open in time to catch a glimpse of your little, jammied foot wiggling - that was enough. I just had to know that you were okay. You finally woke up about 30 minutes later and I didn't hesitate to jump out of bed and cuddle you.

I'm tempted to tell God that I'd gladly keep doing night-time feedings for all eternity if he'd only let you stay just like you are now - precious, perfect, innocent. But, then I think of your big brothers and how amazing they are. I know that you will be just as amazing and that I'd miss out on all the incredible things you'll do. I'm certain that you'll be able to keep me captivated effortlessly for a lifetime - just by being you. So, I guess I'll be content to watch you grow, although the change I see every single day is almost too much. You're precious...

A few hours later, I experienced the same empty feeling of panic again as I walked away from your kindergarten classroom - your first day, my Caleb. I tried to make Owen hold my hand, but he wouldn't. I cuddled Nathan [whether he liked it or not] a little closer to my chest. I felt like I was grasping at straws, trying to keep you from slipping through my grasp. My sweet Caleb, I wanted to be brave for you and not cry, but I couldn't help it - just a few tears because you're another milestone older.

You made my day when you saw me through the window at dismissal time and waved, with a huge smile. You bounded out the door and into my arms and I never, ever want to forget holding you up off the ground in a huge embrace. You're amazing. You are full of silly, unbridled energy. [You insisted I take your picture this morning with your backpack on backwards.] You want to play all. day. long. You make me crazy, but it's such a good thing. Once you're old enough to focus all that might, determination and curiosity, you'll touch the stars. You recently told me that you want to be an astronaut, but that you'd rather fly a jet in space than a rocket. I told you that's not possible, but you may very well be the one to prove me wrong. You're brilliant. You built a bridge between our couches using only a deck of flashcards when you were four. You've aspired to be so many great and amazing things [a storm trooper, a football player, a scientist]. You have such a sweet spirit and I'm so very, very proud of you. I love being your Mommy. Some day you may be flying through the stars, but as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be. I love you, Big Guy.