Last night we celebrated our youngest son, Levi’s, birthday. He was so cute blowing out his candles and opening gifts.
I can’t believe he is three years old now. It seems like he was born yesterday…..and at the same time, it’s hard to remember a time when he was not a part of our family.
We’d been living in North Carolina for less than four weeks when he was born. Shortly after the move, I made the big bold decision to have a homebirth, with a midwife in attendance. This was not the easiest thing to arrange, but after experiencing a couple of visits to the local OB/GYN, I was pretty convinced it was the right choice. The whole ordeal of “hiring” the midwife kind of made my husband uncomfortable, but he wanted me to do what I felt would make me most at ease—after all, I was the one who was going to have to go through labor and delivery!
Fortunately, the midwife was wonderful. Everything went so smoothly. I did have some of the dreaded “back labor,” and I recall at one point near the end (in transition) thinking to myself, “Next time, if there is a next time, I’m going to go to the hospital and have an epidural like everyone else!” (This was my third drug-free labor.)
But then Levi was born, and the pain was over, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing. 
Our wee one was without a name for a few hours. Brian and I couldn’t agree on what to call the poor fellow. I’d been hoping for “Joseph,” but that had been relegated to middle-name status. None of the names we’d tossed around while I was pregnant were jumping up and seeming just right.
And then I remembered “Levi.” It was a name I had loved years ago, back when it was just Brian and me and no babies. I’d kind of forgotten about it. When it came to mind, I suggested we call the baby that just for a while—like an experiment, to see if it would work.
It did. He’s called all sorts of things now: Levi, Levi Joseph, Levie Joe, Weenie. He’s got the biggest, whitest smile and the skinniest little body. His head looks like a mushroom when his hair gets too long. He leaves little bits and pieces of disposable diapers all over the carpet—just one more reason we bought him “big-boy” underpants for his birthday. Time to potty train!
