Today is an anniversary of sorts that I’m claiming all to myself.

On July 3rd, 2000, my first baby, Logan, was due to be born.

So I woke up on July 3rd, 2000, ready to have a baby.

I’d been ready to have that baby since, well, since probably the day I found out I was going to have him.  I’m an impatient person by nature and on top of that, I pretty much absolutely hated pregnancy. I was sick for almost the entire 40 weeks, I was huuuuuge, like can’t even wear my shoes huge, and I just generally prefer my children outside of my body, where I can see them and yell at them if I need to.

But even without my natural impatience for waiting 9 months to meet my firstborn, on July 3rd, 2000, I was ready to have a baby, because dammit, that was my due date, so in my inexperienced mind, that’s when he’d show up at my door. Right? Isn’t that the way it works?

I’m not that clueless. Everyone said that first babies are often late. Everyone said a due date is just a ballpark figure, a theory based on known facts. So unless a medical issue suggested otherwise, everyone said for first babies, best to let Mother Nature decide when the time was right.

Ha! Tell that to Mothership Hillary, who by July 3rd was carrying 47 unfamiliar pounds on my 5 foot body, who by July 3rd was wearing my mother’s shoes, since her feet are bigger and mine were so swollen that I couldn’t even wear my own flip flops, who’d had my last baby shower two weeks before, who was anxious and impatient and excited and awake early on the morning of July 3rd, 2000, eager to give Logan a real live high five. Ready to be a mom.

Well, July 3rd,2000 came and went and on July 4th, I was still serving in my vessel status, still playing alien host, still not yet officially anyone other than Hillary. And I was ticked. Man, was I ticked.

It was supposed to happen on July 3rd, 2000! Of course I knew the odds were stacked favorably that it wouldn’t. But it didn’t matter! Where was Logan? Where was my son? Why wasn’t he here yet? Why can’t I see him? Why do I have to face ANOTHER pregnant day? The timer has gone off here! He’s cooked, he’s done and so am I…let’s move on to the next stage now, I’m ready.

Logan didn’t ring the doorbell on July 4th or even the next day. In fact, his birthday is July 8th, which means that I waited 5 extra days, (almost 6, wow did it take a long time to coax that boy out of my body!), to greet him, to say hello, to look at the face I’d been wondering about for so long. And the rest is history. Five days from now, July 8th, 2009, my firstborn will turn 9.

Two things come to my mind right now as I think about this day, July 3rd, 2000, nine years later.

One is this … I want those 5 days back!! I didn’t appreciate those 5 extra days then. Didn’t realize how much things were going to change 5 days from then. Didn’t realize how those were the last days I’d ever get to leave it up to only myself to keep my boy safe. I didn’t have to worry about what was making him cry, what does this rash mean, how the hell do I fold up his stroller, when should he give up his bottle, why isn’t he talking as much as my friend’s one year old, how will he handle a whole day of preschool away from me, will he break his neck now that he can ride a bike, will he be well liked when he goes to Kindergarten, how can I help him when his feelings are hurt, how do I harness his intelligence and ensure that he uses it wisely, what the hell is laser tag and where am I going to put the hamsters that he wants for his birthday…yes, 9 years later, I realize how all I had to do for 5 more days from then was just do for myself. He’d be fine as long as I was.

The other thing that comes to mind is how much I remember ABOUT July 3rd, 2000. I don’t remember the other days between then and July 8th, 2000, but I remember that day vividly. I remember what my house smelled like on that day,what was on TV that morning, that I went to the store and barked at the checker “It’s today!”when she asked me when my due date was. I remember what I was wearing. I remember going into Logan’s room and sitting on the floor and wondering for a long time what he’d look like and what kind of baby he’d be. I opened up his drawers and flipped through all his clothes that were brand new, never been worn, all folded up and ready to be filled with his baby body. I remember all of that and I remember that I didn’t even think beyond that…didn’t even consider that one day he’d be a nine year old almost as tall as me, with feet as big as mine, wearing those God-awful red Crocs, with big plans for hamsters and laser tag for his birthday and tackle football in the fall. That someday he’d use words like annoying and shut up and that one day, I could ask him for help with directions on how to get home from somewhere.

On that day, and for the next five days, all I could imagine was a baby. He was going to be a boy. He was going to be named Logan.

5 days from then, July 8th, 2000, I began to really know what it meant to be a mom.

Happy (almost) 9th Birthday, Frog Legs.

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