Around 10:30 pm on January 23, 2001, while I was watching NYPD Blue, Noah gave me the first signs that he was getting ready to make his arrival. I waddled upstairs to tell Shawn, who was sleeping (he had a class for work the next morning, so we figured I’d go into labor on or near his class day, a la Murphy’s Law). He pushed my arm away and said, “No you’re not, leave me alone. I’m sleeping,” when I told him I was pretty sure I was in labor. I finally managed to drag my husband out of the house sometime around midnight and we made one of our most life-changing trips ever.
At 1:25 pm on January 24, after 40 weeks (to the day!) of pregnancy, we finally got to meet Timothy Noah Paul. And what a meeting it was! The nurse handed eight pounds of “Mommy-it’s-cold-and-bright-why-are-they-doing-this-me?” red-faced, screaming baby to me, and my first question was, “What do I do with him?” If only I had known how prophetic that question was! I have asked it almost every single day since (usually looking heavenward, hoping for some kind of divine inspiration!)! On that day, we embarked on the grand adventure and hair-raising journey of raising our oldest son.
Noah, I want you to know how much you are loved by me, Daddy and Avery, by all of our family, by your teachers at church and by our friends. Most of all, I want you to know how much you are loved by God. I hope you grow in His love, day after day, and grow comfortable with who He has created you to be. Daddy and I are proud of you whether you become a professional toilet cleaner, find the cure for a disease or become a veterinarian-soldier-author (unless you blow up your seventh grade science classroom doing one of your experiments before you get there, then we’re going to have a talk!) because we want you to do what makes you happy.
I love you Son, happy 10th birthday.
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