Seventeen years ago we had a snow storm. I know this because I drove to the hospital in it to give birth to my first-born. My husband had been out with his company pushing snow and came home around midnight. I was eight days overdue and just a tad big and uncomfortable (and if you knew me then, you understand why this is sarcastically funny!) Around 2:00 a.m. I felt a pop. I can’t describe it, but I knew my water had broken. I woke up my sleepy husband and as we left the house I remember standing at the front door staring back into the house thinking…this is it…this is where my life becomes “before kids” and “after kids”. Nothing will be the same. And it wasn’t. Thank God.
After 19 hours of labor, three hours of pushing, and a final attempt with the forceps, all 7 lbs 4 oz, 22 inches of Brandon Thomas Walters entered this world and more importantly, entered my life.
My sweet son. I feel sorry for him sometimes because he has been somewhat of an experiment for me. A combination of instinct and trial and error. A multitude of mistakes by me as I navigate this thing called parenthood. Sometimes I’m at the wheel in full control and other times I’m flying down a hill with no brakes and realize I don’t even have a steering wheel to guide me. He stoically takes the brunt of my inexperience knowing he is only making things easier for his little sister as I learn from the mistakes I make with him.
First-born children are often described as being
When Brandon was about five, he was obsessed with trophies. He wanted as many trophies as he could get his hands on. He particularly fell in love with a big golf trophy my dad had won in a tournament and as most grandfathers would do, my dad gave it to him. He displayed it proudly in his room and it was later joined by a t-ball trophy he received. He loved his trophies. Within the next year my dad died. The grownups in the family decided to each choose a special memento to include in the casket with my dad when we buried him. Each of us came up with something that represented a special moment between each of us and my dad. On the day we were going to the family viewing and placing our articles in the casket, Brandon came into my bedroom with his t-ball trophy and asked if he could put it in Gdad’s casket. He wanted to make him happy the way he had made him happy.
And that’s my Brandon…all summed up in one short paragraph. So, happy birthday Brandon! I hope you know how special you are EVERY day, but especially on this significant and meaningful day in all of our lives. We love you and are very proud of you!
After 19 hours of labor, three hours of pushing, and a final attempt with the forceps, all 7 lbs 4 oz, 22 inches of Brandon Thomas Walters entered this world and more importantly, entered my life.
My sweet son. I feel sorry for him sometimes because he has been somewhat of an experiment for me. A combination of instinct and trial and error. A multitude of mistakes by me as I navigate this thing called parenthood. Sometimes I’m at the wheel in full control and other times I’m flying down a hill with no brakes and realize I don’t even have a steering wheel to guide me. He stoically takes the brunt of my inexperience knowing he is only making things easier for his little sister as I learn from the mistakes I make with him.
First-born children are often described as being
- Reliable
- Conscientious
- Structured
- Cautious
- Perfectionists
- Highly motivated to achieve success
- Enjoy making others happy
- Leaders
When Brandon was about five, he was obsessed with trophies. He wanted as many trophies as he could get his hands on. He particularly fell in love with a big golf trophy my dad had won in a tournament and as most grandfathers would do, my dad gave it to him. He displayed it proudly in his room and it was later joined by a t-ball trophy he received. He loved his trophies. Within the next year my dad died. The grownups in the family decided to each choose a special memento to include in the casket with my dad when we buried him. Each of us came up with something that represented a special moment between each of us and my dad. On the day we were going to the family viewing and placing our articles in the casket, Brandon came into my bedroom with his t-ball trophy and asked if he could put it in Gdad’s casket. He wanted to make him happy the way he had made him happy.
And that’s my Brandon…all summed up in one short paragraph. So, happy birthday Brandon! I hope you know how special you are EVERY day, but especially on this significant and meaningful day in all of our lives. We love you and are very proud of you!
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