Happy 2nd birthday Reed Ramsey Cadle! Two years ago today, you were well on your way. You came into the world the usual way so there’s no need revisit that. The day before you came, was for me, the noteworthy part of your birth story.
By November 2010 I really didn’t want to be pregnant anymore. I mean really!!!! I went to a doctor’s appointment know he would tell me that things were going to get interesting at any moment. No such luck. He told me he’d see me next week. I’m seething with anger and frustration. Sensing that, he tells me that I can schedule an induction. I recall the date as the 12th of NEVER! I assured Dr. Brown that he would see me before next week, and he laughed and scoffed at me.
I didn’t make it to me car before hot, angry tears were streaming down my face. It was then, dear Reed, that we had our first what I like to call a “Coming to Jesus Meeting.” I laid it out for you. My body was no longer big enough for the two of us. One of us had to vacate and it certainly would NOT be me. I let you know that you were loved, and wanted and welcome and that it was past time to carry on the way we intend to go.
I had a meeting of my church ladies group that night. I assured all of them that I would not attend that month because I would have a new baby. But I show up. At the end of the meeting some ladies are having wine. I politely decline. Then dear, sweet, wise and adorable Bev Johnson pours me a glass and says, “Oh come on. Four ounces never hurt anyone!” If Bev Johnson says, it’s OK, believe me. It’s OK. At 10 o’clock the next morning you had all your stuff packed up as told me you were leaving. And here you are today.
You love chasing your brother. You call him Boosey. You like monkeys and Thomas the Train. You have a talking Grover from Sesame Street, but you call him Elmo. You say lots of words, right now your favorite is NO!!! You’re obsessed with vacuum cleaner and brooms. If you’re not running, odd are you’re sweeping. You’re pretty keen on balls too. You like grapes, but you call them balls. You also like to eat bacon and yogurt – and since Halloween – Kit Kat bars.
For some reason your nick name is Reeder. Nick names are almost alive how they grow and change. Reeder became Reeder Roo. And Roo begins the word rutabaga. So sometimes I call you Rutabaga. We called your brother, Pickles, so go figure.
You get mad and sometimes you hit and throw things. You can whine and cry that makes nails on a chalk board sound like easy listening. You don't like riding in a stroller at all or in a car for a long distance. "Long" is a length of time determined arbitrarily by you. I'm never taking you on a plane again until you're 27. Sometimes I wish you'd just quit acting like such a baby!
You're a precious boy and I thank God for you everyday. Happy Birthday!