Twelve. Twelve?!?!

Twelve years ago today I sat wondering if this would be the day my baby would finally arrive. Ben (or Lauren for all we knew) was already a week overdue. If this had been my second or third child, perhaps I would have relished a few extra days of peace, but since this was my first, I was beyond ready.

Go time wouldn't arrive until my waters broke in the wee hours of the next morning. After 12 hours of labor and two hours of pushing that left me wrecked, at long last I heard my destiny: "It's a boy!" Ben was laid upon my chest, and with clarity I can conjure to this day I recall the wonder I felt the first time I laid my hands upon his tiny body.

I was just 25 years old when Ben was born, a naïf. It wasn't exactly a whim, Mark and I wanting to start a family so young. We had solid reasons both personal and practical. Yet I distinctly remember thinking, how hard could it be?

One day when I was about six months pregnant with Ben, Mark and I were taking a walk and I expressed my fear about the physical pain of labor that awaited me. If only I'd known. Labor is painful, yes, but in the end it's the ultimate gratification. It was the forthcoming decades of fretting, worry and uncertainty that should've had me nervous.

We moms often like to ponder what was the hardest transition. One to two children, two to three? No and no. When Nos. 2 and 3 came along, I relished having the knowledge I'd earned after going through birth and raising a baby. No thanks, Ms. Lactation Consultant. I'm all set.

By far it was the hardest for me to go from no babies to one. What do I do with him? I puzzled once we brought Ben home. This is a question veteran moms never ask. Duh. You don't need to do much besides kick back and feed the baby, fall in love with him, rest when you can, read a book, watch some TV. In short, enjoy this brief time while it lasts.

Hearkening back to the how hard could it be question, I had no idea. I knew babies sometimes didn't sleep, but I did not nearly grasp the extent to which this could happen. As evidence, our first night home, I lovingly laid Ben in his bassinet and set the alarm for four hours later so I could wake up to feed him (I know I've probably told this story before, but I still cannot get over my naiveté). Not one minute later a waaaaah! rang out. It heralded months of interrupted sleep.

I somehow thought baby sleep could be dysfunctional but in an organized, contained sort of way. Surely a baby could not be needy all night long? I know some parents have babies who sleep like champs from the beginning. For this I loathe congratulate you. This was not the case for us. We were sleep-deprived for a good year.

Twelve years later, I can recall the physical and emotional toll sleep deprivation and first-time baby angst took. I'm here to tell you, once again, that I hadn't seen anything yet. These past years have brought both soaring highs and crushing lows.

I've watched Ben's evolve into his own person, one whose intellect, abilities and drive are awe-inspiring. Paul has become this passionate, creative, imaginative kid. He's all heart, and he's sensitive in ways both good and trying. Gus makes me laugh every day. I wish I had an ounce of his confidence. 

On the flip side, trying to negotiate a tween's moods, worrying about a middle son's frightening health episode, and facing a youngest son's school troubles are enough to make me long for those "simpler" days of babyhood.

In going through this life transition, these days I often find myself feeling wistful. I look at pregnant women and moms of babies and toddlers with real envy. Should we have had one more? I ask myself. (Not going to happen.)

When I think about it, though, we're really in a pretty sweet spot for reasons not the least of which is that everyone now sleeps through the night. Yes, I feel ambivalent about 12 (six more years someone recently said to me, to which I respond, shut your mouth!). The years really are passing staggeringly quickly, but these are good times.

The baby smell on my oldest has been replaced by body wash for men and deodorant at a good moment and tween boy funk at a bad. His body is growing ever longer and more muscular, and his face is no longer that of a little boy, but a young man. I was gobsmacked a few weeks ago to realize I had a son old enough to interview me about my memories of 9/11. 

I know even as they are happening before my eyes how fleeting these days are. I miss my babies, but I relish these moments watching my boys grow, building a foundation of who they will become. 

Happy birthday, sweet Ben, my first, my guinea pig, my teacher. These lyrics from one of my favorite children's songs feel appropriate today: "Evermore I will love you, evermore I will stay, ever right here to hold you, never so far away. And though I know sometimes you go to find your way alone, evermore I will love you. You are ever my own."