My boy. It’s STILL crazy to say that. My boy. I have a boy. After 3.5 years of being swallowed and overwhelmed with GIRL, I have a boy. I cried quietly in the middle of the first night he was born because if I’m honest today, I don’t think I was happy I had a boy. I was ecstatic I had another BABY (after all I went through) but I didn’t think I’d know how to “do” boy. Would I “get” him? Would he “get” me? How would I talk Star Wars having never actually SEEN Star Wars? Would I have to memorize baseball, football and basketball stats so that he’d want to be with me? Would he let me hug him and smooch him? Would he cuddle? How soon would I be ditched for daddy?
He’s now 18 months old and I’m still in shock that I have a son. For some reason it doesn’t seem real to me. For one, I think he’s someone else’s son since there isn’t one ounce of him that resembles me. I used to look at little cute blonde boys and note to myself that THAT child could never be mine. MY son would be brunette. MY son would have dark eyes and olive skin. Not. So. Fast. That blonde boy IS my son and I’m still waiting for those light eyes to become dark. I stare at him and search that face for something that’s me. And I come up empty. And at first it was hard because it’s fun to look at your child and see something of “you” in them and in those first days (maybe weeks) where I was having a hard time bonding… it was just hard. It’s easier now, especially as I see more and more of Tim in him and even more importantly, I have bonded. I’m sold on him. I’m whipped.
I realize in the 75 posts that I’ve written here that very few words have been dedicated to this boy. So much of my world is consumed with the little brunette, dark eyed whirlwind of a child known as Hannah who makes me laugh and cry each and every day. What can I say, she gives me better material. BUT, this boy, he warms my heart. He chokes me up. He is my breath of fresh air in my days that seem to pull me under water. He is my son and he’s growing up, and so, I’m dedicating this post to him.
Those eyes. They make EVERY single person who meets him comment on them. Most comments are somewhere along the lines of, “Why is he so scared?” to “He looks so surprised!”, to “WOW, those are some huge eyes”. I’m often left not knowing how to respond and wondering if they are complimenting his eyes or telling me that I should DO something to calm down my fearful, worried son. I do agree they are big, they are so big in fact, that when he was an infant his eyelids literally were not big enough to cover them, making him sleep with his eyes partially open. I’d walk over to him thinking he was awake but he was out cold. I love those eyes. Those huge, beautiful, bright, curious, quizzical, personable, warm, maybe scared looking eyes. It’s his defining feature and I hope they always stand out the way they do today. As they say, “The Better to SEEEE You with, My Dear!”.
His little voice. I could listen to that sweet voice all day. No, he’s not TALKING per se but when he DOES, it will be like butter to the ears (no, that makes NO sense but it will do). “Mommy” has yet to escape his mouth and I am sure he’s decided that because I ask him each and every day, all day to say it, he never will. And I’m now fine with that (not really). For some reason, Luke sings his “words” instead of saying them and with most words he has a dance to go along with it. (Opera in his future?). He says “open” as “Baa BAAAAA” (hands out and in). He says, “Downstairs” as “Daaah DAAAAAH” (hands up then down). He calls the dog (Bella) as “Beh Baaaah!” Spoon is “BOOOoooon”. Water is “WaaaAAAAHH!”He is unable to say “Woof Woof” without doing little mini, dancing squats. But my most favorite word that comes out of his mouth is ball. “Baaaahoooowl”. Music to my ears. All of it.
The determination. That boy KNOWS what he wants and will find a way to get it. I believe if his ball of choice was in an unreachable corner of a room, he would rearrange the furniture in the room to get to it. I have seen him push bins full of toys through three rooms in order to be in our company, and he’s pushed a chair in front of a cabinet he wants to get in. And then he runs to get me to show off his work. He thrives on applause. If there is something in the fridge he wants he will repeat what he thinks that item is over and over without pause, until he gets it. Buh, buh buh, buh is not “yogurt” last I checked, but after showing him every item that begins with “B” in the fridge, I almost gave up until I exasperatedly showed him the yogurt, “This?” I asked and then I got an applause from the little guy.
Silly. So silly. On the one hand he’ll spin around and around and around until he completely loses balance and falls on his face (while laughing) and on the other he’ll sit in his high chair, complete dead pan face and drop his food, one by one, by one onto the floor without losing my eye contact. My finger in his face and strong NO, does not stop him and with each piece I pick up, the next is in my hair as I am bending down to pick the first up. All the while he’s shaking his head no, knowing perfectly well that mommy doesn’t approve. It isn’t until I remove the tray of food that he breaks into the most ridiculous smile. A simple, “I’m done” would do my little friend.
He loves shoes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Any shoe he finds he tries desperately to shove his foot into. Whether they are my shoes, Hannah’s shoe, his own shoes, or a tupperware container that he believes is a shoe, his foot desperately tries to find cover in them. After he’s in them, he LOVES clomping around in them. Up and down the hallways he goes, running into walls as he watches his feet move one in front of the other, giggling all the way.
There truly are no words to describe the adoration he has for his sister. “Ha Ahhh, Ha Ahhh” he shouts when he sees her. He’s been dressed in hair-ties, necklaces, princess outfits, tiaras, and legwarmers. He’s endured countless “Doctors” appointments leaving with Bandaids across his forehead, feet, knees and back. He’s had EVERY (yes EVERY) toy taken from him and replaced with a smaller, older, less exciting toy. He’s been tackled, squeezed, rolled, carried and smooshed by this 36 pound girl and has endured it ALL with a smile. Coming back for more, ASKING for more. He kisses her during her tantrums, hugs her when she cries, brings her her stuffed animal when she’s sad and laughs harder than anyone else on earth when she does anything remotely silly. It melts me (and her too when she’s in the mood). I live for the day when she appreciates it and hope to god he’s still doing it when she does.
He’s my son. He may not say much. But he’s won my heart in a way that I never could have imagined. And I can say now, with no uncertainty, I’m so happy I have this boy.