Reblog from 2015, when my son turned one.
I lied to the cashier at Publix. I didn’t mean to, necessarily, but it just kinda…happened.
She mentioned how cute our little boy was and asked his age. “It is actually his birthday,” I smiled, “He is 1 today!”
“Aww,” she said kindly, “you must remember June 5 of last year like it was yesterday.”
“Yes,” I said, before even thinking. It was one of those wait-that-wasn’t-true moments, but I also did not feel the need to go back and explain the truth.
See, the truth is that, no, I don’t specifically remember June 5 of last year. I honestly have no idea what I was doing that day. But, I wasn’t giving birth, that’s for sure.
It was one of those moments that stops me on my tracks. I am reminded that, as much as he is my son, Sammy is not only mine. He is a shared gift – with physical features not my own, but mannerisms that are mine completely. It is the mystery of nature and nurture that binds all of his parents together. We share this child. He is a part of all of us.
And, though, I don’t recall exactly what I was doing on June 5 of last year, I can say with certainty that every June 5 from now on will be full of celebration for the wonderful gift of Sammy’s life and his first parents that gave it to him.