Marshall turned three yesterday. Three! I can hardly believe it. I had actually forgotten his birthday was yesterday until I was reminded the day before. I always get confused about his birthday. I’ve answered with the wrong day at least two dozen times at the hospital when we check in. I almost always say the 26th, even though it’s really the 21st (Quinn was born on the 26th of another month, in another year; same planet, though).
My little guy is a full-fledged little boy, running around, causing trouble with his brother, curious as can be, and starting to talk to us. He feeds himself, he walks around with his backpack, eager to go to school and play with his friends. Marshy follows his big brother around, acting like a clown and making everyone laugh with his silly antics.
He has come a long way, certainly. I can hardly believe what he has had to go through to get to where he is now; I can also hardly believe how much more there is to come, but that’s not for today. Bridget hit this point long ago, but I am just now starting to relax and not be in a constant state of worry. Besides the things I can’t control, what is there to worry about? We walked home after I picked him up yesterday afternoon, a slow, meandering walk (putting him in the stroller is like applying hot coals to his feet these days) with Quinn and me following behind while he tries to strike up a conversation with every person we pass.
At one point yesterday during the walk, I looked up to see Quinn laughing and running ahead, while Marshall called after him, wobbling along, trying to keep up in his clunky winter boots, and I felt happy. I was calm enough to recognize that.
It’s time, I think, for me to take a step away from writing this blog. My output has certainly diminished, partly because many of my early posts were written during long nights at the hospital while Marshy half-slept and machines beeped, and those types of emergency visits are extremely rare these days. Our visits and stays are scheduled now as his health has stabilized and we’ve learned more about what Marshall’s Apert syndrome means. The blog has provided me with an outlet for my stress and anxiety. The therapeutic value of sharing my fears and hoping that it will help another family in the future provided comfort during times of worry. Just as importantly, it allowed me to keep family and friends in the loop without having to recount difficult details multiple times. I may still drop in from time to time if major events happen, but people who know me are probably already shocked I stuck with an activity for three years.
Finally, Marshall is growing up, and I think it’s time to stop speaking for and about him soon, and allow his voice to narrate his life. I was the trailer hyping his movie, and now that the film is in theatres, all eyes should be on him.
So for now, thank you for reading and following my special family and all the heartache, joy, pain, and delight that comes with being a father to my little guys. Over the last few years, I have been stopped by people who tell me they read about Marshall online. I appreciate the emotional support, the kind words, the unending love and unconditional encouragement from everyone. It’s not that I’ve run out of things to say about Marshall, but rather there’s too much to say.