Big E!

Little pre-run intimidation.

Getting warmed-up.

Showing off the guns.

And yes, he does look like me.

Ethan starts school next week. All thirty three pounds of him. I'm not all mushy gushy teary eyed. That's not the relationship I have with Ethan (we'll see how Monday morning goes...). I'm just proud of the firecracker. He's going to take this world by the horns and they are not going to know what hit it, exactly what he did to me five and a half years ago.
I had Ethan at home, a home birth. It was the beginning of a new life for me, one that started out so nice and clean and cozy.  I loved being pregnant, loved setting up the nursery, hanging the perfect, unused clothes in the closet by size so I could stare at them and imagine how perfect life was going to be after the baby came. How perfect of a mother I was going to be. The perfect life I would give my child, who at that time I didn't even know was male or female.
The first time I felt any real labor pain I was opening the fridge to get something for my midwife to eat. She was hungry. I remember trying to cover it up, trying to not let the electrifying pain surrounding my abdomen and shooting down my legs show on my face. In my head, though, was the truth: what the hell? Up until that point I was in denial. None of this was supposed to be painful. I had always been spared. I don't get pain, I don't get real consequences. I dodge them, live in denial until they go away. Despite what your life may look like,  my life was supposed to be easy, painless.
For nine months I anticipated my labor. I planned for pain theoretically. But deep down I was in denial that any of this would ever cause any pain, but of course it did. Motherhood has caused me excruciating pain. But it has also caused so much growth. So much realness.
This is how my labor was supposed to go: I'd be a perfect hostess and eventually we'd all be sitting around munching on olives and I'd say it was time and push out a perfect little baby.  And then what? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Probably sleep.
The pain did come though, of course. And after what I can honestly say was the worse night of my life (labor is a B. end of story) Ethan Lear made his way into this world. His name means strong, firm. It fits his demeanor exactly.
He's been strong and firm right from the beginning. He's outgoing and imaginative. He's assertive and displays very natural leadership qualities (which his mother has to counteract every second of everyday). He can be maddeningly bumptious (if you don't know what that means, go look it up. It's a wonderful word to describe your children ages 2-5).  He is also incredibly loving and cuddlable, on a good day.
And when I think about him starting kindergarten, starting the rest of his life, I'm proud of him, excited for him. Whatever he wants, he will conquer it.
Last night we ran in the Moonlight Madness Race at Rancho San Rafael. It was mostly for Ethan; he's been dying to run in his first race. Joey ran with him and although I couldn't see them (I had to stay back with the stroller and Noah) Joey said he started out like a bat outta you know where until he realized the finish line was not right in front of him.  He realized he'd have to slow down and keep a steady pace, and take walk breaks when he needed them.  I was worried about a full-on break down but overall he ran really well and finished strong. Just like he'll do for the whole rest of his life:  take a couple of walk breaks when  needed,  but overall he'll finish strong. I'm sure of it.