I started crying on Friday evening.

Jacob received his First Holy Communion a few Saturdays ago. He and his classmates have been preparing for months. I have been complaining. There were too many notes home, too many books to read, too many meetings, too much money, too much fuss, too much arguing about ties, too much too much too much. After all, I argued, this is just the first of many. It isn't that big a deal. The important thing is what happens for the next 80 years of his life. I kept working on whittling it down to size.

Then I went shopping for his gift. That was the beginning of the end. I was standing there in the huge Catholic Supply store (because I suppose it takes many supplies to be Catholic) with my mother when she said, "Christy, it's his First Communion."

My throat was closed by a seven pound lump and I whispered, "I know. I know!" I left Mom standing next to one of six special First Communion displays. I browsed through the crucifixes until I stopped crying. I went back to pick up a white embossed memento box and met Mom at the cards. As soon as I read the first card, I was off crying again. We eventually managed to actually purchase a few things and headed home.

The next morning, Jacob started trying to get dressed three hours before the big event. I told him that he could put on his brand new white shirt and tie no sooner than 9:05. He spent the rest of the morning wandering into the kitchen every 3-4 minutes to check the time. By 9:20, Jake and I were on our way out the door. The rest of the family was to meet us at church after the picture sessions were over. "Are you excited?" I asked him. He nodded, then slipped his hand into mine. He held my hand all the way to church. He's a big kid now but he knows that every once in a while, I still need him to be my baby boy.