I have looked at each of my last four babies with the assumption that they would be the last. Call it the gift of so much loss and ache; when you have found peace with accepting that your hopes and dreams and desires fall second to the plans of God, each and every chance to call another child your own is nothing short of a precious bit of extra ladled into your heart.
Simon was no different.
After the amazing, thrilling, roller coaster of 2010 (in which we finalized two adoptions and gave birth to the miracle baby we’d never thought we’d have), Christopher and I pushed our chairs back from the table, sighed deeply, and said, “Lord, you have given beyond our wildest expectations. Thank you.”
Then we set about living life. And it was a very good life indeed.
But God had more waiting: Simon.
I can’t even explain our emotions at the realization that God had not finished with our family. Shock? Yes. But the overriding factor was one of wonder, and it’s that attribute that has followed me as I have parented this little man the past two years and (almost) four months.
Simon is independent. He is vivacious. He is opinionated. He is needy. He is curious. He is physical. He is frighteningly intelligent and almost stunningly verbal. Above all, he is a personality so large, so full, that at times I step back and marvel, “This is my son.”
Before we knew that he would pass on the mantle of Baby to another sibling, I wondered what all this mix of confidence and capability would look like in 10 years with no one beneath to buffer the inevitable outpouring of endless attention that the youngest in a large family receives. I worried that he would be overly bold, that he would struggle with a life that did not cater to his whims, that he would be the stereotypical “it’s all about me” child that everyone expects when they hear, “Oh, I’m the baby of the family.”
Turns out, God had different plans– and now I can transfer all of those fears to another child. Because after all, someone is going to be the last eventually, right?
For these, the last few days of Simon being the littlest, I am cherishing his still-small feeling body as he clambers onto my lap, and the sweet conversations we have as I tuck him into bed at night. I am treasuring up these last days of babyhood, as I have with each and every child since the first. I am blessed beyond measure to have a new life on the way, and I am also thankful for the months I have had to wrap myself in this little man, watching him blossom into the toddler we didn’t know we were missing not so very long ago. Very soon, his legs will seem impossibly long, his shoes massive. He will morph, through no actual action other than the recalibration of my eyes, into a bigger child. The baby he is today, to all of us, will disappear. He will be a big brother. And I know in my heart he will shine.