Today’s post is a continuation in my birth stories series. Last time, I wrote about my own birth. Today, I’m sharing with you the story of Oliver’s birth.
Trigger Warning: This post mentions pregnancy loss and describes a birth event.
We recently celebrated my son’s sixth birthday. A few days later I sat down to do a visioning exercise and was imagining what my life would look like in five years. My first thought was how old I would be and then how old each of my children would be. Oliver will be 11 in five years. For some reason that just doesn’t seem to add up in my mind. I can’t imagine my firstborn as an eleven-year-old. Each day I watch him grow—getting taller, smarter, sweeter. What I love most about being a mother is watching my kids grow into the human beings they are becoming. But even so, something about imagining Oliver being 11 tugged at my heart.