My baby boy.
The sleeping baby, the VBAC, the one who nursed for a year. The 9lb 2oz surprise that made my OB wonder how I had hid such a big baby from him those last few weeks, when he was expected to be similar to his brother’s 7lbs 7oz at birth.
The one who’s infancy I remember only in disjointed moments due to rampant insomnia and 10 months of battling chronic bronchitis. I was so very tired when he was a baby. So very glad this one slept more & cried less than the other, making it easier to care for both of them & not feel I was neglecting anyone.
The one who has more than made up for those easy months by developing a stubbornness that is astounding in one so young and a tendency to solve problems with violence that we are still struggling with almost daily.
The one who shrieks and wails and sobs when things don’t go the way he wants in a game, but who absolutely refuses to give up until he succeeds. Even if he cries the whole way through.
The one who’s learning comes in sharp, often harsh, spikes rather than his brother’s gentler curves. And who is less likely than his brother to insist that things be ‘equal’.
The one who so far, is still not embarrassed to be seen hugging & kissing his mom in public. Who still likes to sneak up on people and then suddenly announce “There is a hug coming up behind you”
The one who has insisted on pizza for his birthday every year since he turned 2.
And cupcakes. “With lots and lots of sprinkles”
Happy Birthday Mayhem!
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