2

The 7ths.  They get me every time.  Well, both times (so far) – every seems too much.  But really only 2 so far, huh?  Three with February’s.

I have two friends who also had little boys on February 7th.  They are sweet!  Plumping up nicely, as babies do.  I wonder what my little chunk would weigh now.

Smiling!  They’re starting to smile now on purpose! Would Sebastian be smiling, or would we still be trying to coax a “real” one out of him and wondering if it was just gas? What would that sweet, gummy smile look like?

That beautiful red hair.  Would it have fallen out like T’s? Stopped growing and just hung out like M’s? Changed blonde like R’s?  Would he have a bald spot from rubbing it against the blanket, our arms, his car seat?

Would he have remained the calm little soul he seemed to be from within my belly? It’s hard to imagine a peaceful boy after how fussy R was. Is. Maybe that “I don’t want to disturb you” attitude would have been his defense mechanism in this noisy, bustling household.

Would he have “played fireman” during diaper changes like his brother? Would he have liked the air on his skin while being changed like m, or would he have wailed like the others?  Would bath times been thrilling or terrifying? Would he have welcomed being passed around at church, or was he mama’s boy? Would he have been jealous of me holding Thomas?  Would Thomas even let me hold him (like he seems to know I need), or would he fuss for me like he does for others, I’m told.

A friend today is remembering her husband’s death 21 years ago.  21 YEARS ago.  I can get through the day to day pretty well, an “eye leak” now and then, but mostly still just thankful he was here.  Then I hear things like getting though 21 years without someone you love.  Remembering the date on the “in remembrance of” tag of some doo dad in the memory box… 30 years.  It has been 2 months, day by day, but 2 months.  The thought of 21, 30, 50 years without him is too much.  But ultimately it’s a blip… a blink.

Easter is next Sunday.  Oh how I’m longing to hear once again the story of the Resurrection of Jesus, because it’s the story of the eventual resurrection of me.

And the resurrection of him.

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