And Then He Turned 2

My baby boy. No longer a baby. And it happened so quickly. He skipped walking, for running. He climbs. Everything. He hits...to show frustration, to say hello, to ask you to play. He dances like a madman.


He melts my heart with, "No Mommy, I love YOU more." But really, I love him more.


Once upon a time I thought I would be the perfect mom for boys. I'm not. I actually think that maybe I do girls better. But we needed our guy. We needed his rough-housing and humongo loves.


We needed his spirit.


Even if he is a pesty little brother sometimes.


I have a pesty little brother. He flushed my goldfish. When it wasn't dead. He once destroyed an elaborate cardboard "dog mansion" I had labored over for three days. With four rooms, furniture, and high-end decor, it was a work of art for my beloved two-inch tall toy puppy. Until that pesty little brother got it.


But gosh how I have ALWAYS adored that pesty little brother. He was my best friend growing up. I admired his faithfulness and great desire to serve God and his family. He always had it. From day one. It is part of his eternal identity. And now he continues to serve God, and his wife and darling baby. And me. Sometimes he still calls, just to check on me. How many brothers do that? Ever? He sent a box for the big birthday. Including a rockin SF cable car and Little People airplane for the boy. And chocolate covered macadamias from Hawaii. He thought about ME in Hawaii!


Someday my boy will be big too. Will he still be fun-loving? Will he still give huge loves? Will he roughhouse with his own kids the way he loves to be roughhoused? I am sure he will be a great husband. I think four sisters pre-determines that. Will he think about his sisters when he has his own family? Will he call them sometimes? Or send them something? Will I have nurtured him with the kind of a patience a wild boy needs without stifling his boyness?


How could it have already been two years? It seems like he was just my tiny baby in the hospital. The only one of my five that actually came on his own. I finally went to the hospital three hours before my scheduled induction because I couldn't stand the pain anymore. I was terrified they would tell me it was false labor and send me home. I was a 7. It was so different from my other labors.


And then some hours after delivery I paged the nurse, "Um, I know this is my fourth baby." Pause of embarrassment. "But, um, well, thisismyfirstboyandhejustpeedalloverandIneedcleaneverything please." He even peed in his own eye. On his first day of life. Yeah. Maybe I am not such a great mom of boys. But I am learning to better appreciate the messiness of boys. It's not that girls don't get messy sometimes, it's just that boys revel in it.


But I sure do love him. I love his passion for trains. "Daddy train." Daddy does ride the train.


I love his thoughtfulness for his next older sister. I can never make him a snack or drink without making the same for her...on his request.


I love the way he hands me a train and says, "Come play. Follow me."


I love to see how happy it makes the dad in our family to witness his son's obsession with balls.


Clearly an obsession of nature, not nurture.


I love his clever manipulations, "You can make me a chocolate milk?" he asks. "Are you asking for a chocolate milk?" I reply. "Sure," he says, as if it were my idea in the first place.


I love his enthusiasm for life. His exuberant, "I did it!!" after every little accomplishment. And the balance he brings to such a hormonal home. We sure needed our boy. Despite the snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, I wouldn't trade him for the world.


Happy birthday my handsome son!