He. Is. Three.

I was a swollen, platelet loosin' mess.  After a short stint in the hospital, we were really hoping the doctor would induce and get Bryton in our arms and out of my belly before halloween, but no such luck.  I wasn't spilling any protein, preclampsia was out, and I was going to have to spend, possibly, another three weeks or so in my husbands shoes since none of mine fit. 

It was a rough end of pregnancy I had with him. 

Luckily- little guy took it easy on me, and the Sunday after the Wednesday that I got out of the hospital my water broke at home.  17 days early.  Praise Jesus. 

Labor was short, and hard.  The epidural didn't really "take" (though they told me I was lucky to get one... thank you low platelets, but I don't consider myself lucky to think I may get some relief and then not get any...anyway) and most of my labor was back labor.  But it was short.  And that's all that matters. 

Pushing, on the other hand, took two. and. a. half. hours.  In 'pushing baby out' verbage - FOREVER! 

I was tired.  It was hard.  And I was watching the clock tick away.  The doctor even threatened to take it down. 

I watched Bryton's birthday change from the 2nd to the 3rd. 

Over and over the doctor told me, "Once he's here, the pain goes away," and you just can't believe it in the middle of the worst pain of your life, but sure enough, at 1:15 a.m. I moved from the absolute worst pain of my life to zero, and 100% elation as they handed me my little olive colored child (thank you jaundice) with a head full of dark brown hair and baby blue eyes.  He was huge (or so I thought pre-Ansley) at a whopping 8lbs, 3 oz.  20 1/2 inches long.  He looked just like dad.

Look at all of that brown hair!  My goodness he was so tiny! 

My goodness he's so big!

I can't explain the feeling of holding your baby for the first time... or even the second or third time... or you know... he's 3, and there's something about a hug from his little arms that makes my day every time.

I just remember lots of teary days after he was born.  Not post-partum depression teary, but elated, thankful and grateful teary.  It's appropriate that he was born in November... he reminds me every day of all I have to be thankful for. 

And today... that little 8 lb baby boy is huge.  At least he looks huge.  He's playing and jumping and talking and becoming more independent as he day goes by.  His life has flashed before my eyes. 

And he's three.  He's a three year old who loves sports (and is good at all of them), loves Mickey and Cars, suckers and popcorn, any kind of boot, and the STL Cardinals.  He loves his little sister, loves singing, and thinks choo choo trains are the greatest things ever. 

And I can't believe how he's growing... but he is... and I can't stop it. 

Happy birthday, Bryton.  Regardless your size or age, you will always be my baby boy.