Dear Ben,

Four years ago today, we were anticipating the arrival of our second child, a little girl, to be named Allison Rose. You were scheduled to be delivered the next day, on the 27th, via C-section. My doctor had recently talked to me about the risks of a repeat C-section, and we were so unsettled. We had been praying for days that you would come on your own--and soon.
We had painted Kaela's room, moved the crib in there, and washed all of her clothes--in addition to the frilly little things we couldn't pass up--and had fallen in love already with the daughter we hadn't yet met. We imagined the tea parties, slumber parties, and shared giggles late into the night between sisters.

And then, early the morning of the 26th, my back began to ache. Terribly! Suddenly! Everyone always talks about timing contractions and calling the doctor when XYZ happens....well, when you were ready to arrive, you burst onto the scene. There was no timing. There was no TIME! Your daddy dropped me off at the hospital, raced across town to deliver Kaela to Neeny's house for the day, and hurried back to be there for the delivery.

In the meantime, well....let's just say I wasn't having the time of my life. I was scared, I was by myself, and I was in pain. I called my school, finally, and talked to our bookkeeper, Lisa (God bless her!) until Daddy got back to the hospital.

And when Daddy got back, we were ready to go. Hooked up to monitors, prepped for surgery (just in case), and just administered the epidural. The entire delivery, from the first contraction til your arrival, took about 4 hours. Four INTENSE hours. As in, if your future pregnant wife ever asks you to go to Godiva across town and buy her chocolate covered strawberries at 3 a.m., you do it--because of those four hours!

Grammy had been supposed to work, but her principal told her to hurry to be with me--and she got there just in the nick of time. Grandma worked in the hospital just around the corner, and she took her lunch break to be with us too. It's a good thing they were there, because if they hadn't been, I have no idea who would have ever told me that...
...YOU WERE A BOY!!! Grammy was the first one to finally blurt that out, and I swear it was 10 minutes before she even told me!

Holy cow! Talk about doing things your own way! You were scheduled to come the next day and you were supposed to be a girl! I thought Kaela would die of a broken heart. She sobbed the whole way to the hospital that night.

But Ben, once she saw you...there was no other baby in the world for her. For any of us. For you've been doing things your own funny way for the past four years, and I have no idea what we ever did without you!

Daddy tells everyone that you just march to the beat of your own drummer. I tell everyone that you're a Borum, through and through. Whatever we call it, you've already received more spankings this week than your sister has in her entire life. I owe you one, too, for that little Picasso job on the side of the van. You remember that?
You don't mind, though. You do what you want, come what may, and don't hold a grudge afterward. I don't know that I've ever seen a more easy-going kid. Except when you're not... :-)

And passion. Ben, our nightly prayer with you is that you grow up to use that passion for the Lord. There are so many things to be distracted by in this world. So many other things vying for your attention. We pray that God helps us to raise you up a passionate man of God, stubborn and happy, maybe, but fully devoted to what (Who) really matters.

Anyway, Son--we celebrated your birthday yesterday at Chuck E. Cheese's (and hopefully you were too young to remember, because we're never going to that madhouse again!!!), but we celebrate the day of your birth every day. You bring laughter and life and joy to our home. And an assortment of creepy crawlies. I tried to get a really good picture of you yesterday on your birthday, but every single one of them showed you with a hunk of your sister's skin between your fingers. Little turkey. This picture was taken by Ms. Angie, and I love it. Shows your spunk.

We love you, Benjamin Downing. You were worth the four terrible hours countless times over, and I would imagine by the time we wake up, the frustration of the Picasso job will have worn off a little. We are grateful for the past four years, and cherish each day. I'm blessed to be your Mommy, you crazy kid.

Love,
Mom