Little Man

Well.  I'm not sure how this happened, but my adorable little baby has, somewhere along the line, turned into a boy.  I know, shocks all around!  And not just a boy, but a dude. He's not quite four, but he has a favorite band, wears baseball hats, and doesn't always want to hold my hand.  What next?

When I was pregnant with him, I thought I knew what kind of boy I'd have.  I pictured a serious little guy with dark eyes and hair and a dry sense of humor.  (A miniature of my husband, in other words.)  So when my  blond-fuzzed baby was born, staring at me with my own blue eyes, you can imagine my surprise.

He's always had an opinion, always been chatty.  Before he could talk, he roared and grunted and filled the corners of our house with his loud, insistent calls. I would wake to him jabbering like a baby crow in his crib, which later turned to his demanding, "Mama! I out, I out! You! Me out!,"  and then to his wriggling over the side and then the gate and appearing in my bedroom, poking me from sleep with one chubby finger.

I always joke that my husband never gets any peace; wherever he goes there's someone nattering on at him.  My son keeps up a running conversation from the moment he jumps out of bed right into his sleep. "Mama, watch me do this, see, I have the tape and I'm making a web.  And now I'm Spiderman.  I'm chasing feefs. What are feefs? (He all but rolls his eyes here) They steal stuff, Mom.  And I chase them.  And catch them in my web.  Do you want to be a feef? Why do you have to do laundry? But our clothes are not dirty! That's just sand, it's ok.  You can not wash that and then you can be a feef.  Well then can I watch that one scary Scooby Doo movie? Why not? YES IT IS! It's propriate! It's propriate! IT'S PRRRROOOOOOOPRIATE!"

Sigh.

I should have known, really.  At his two year old check-up, the doctor said, "Okay, buddy, I'm going to look in your ears," and Sam replied, "No! You not look my ears. I go home wif my mama."  The doctor said, "well...I guess we can cross off the 'speaks in two word sentences' box."

It really puts your flaws in perspective, to see them mirrored in someone you love so intensely. My beautiful boy is stubborn and emotional and unable to give in when he believes he's right.  He gets that from me.  But he is also fierce in his desire to protect those who can't protect themselves, and I'd like to think he gets that from me as well. (Though in all honesty it's probably from that damn Spiderman.)

It's such a cliche, but I am in constant wonder at how he got so big, so fast.  When he was a tiny, unhappy baby it seemed that he would never get any bigger.  He cried and screamed and fussed for the first few weeks of his life, and I remember clearly thinking that someday he would be big, like two years old, and I would be able to take him places without wearing a nursing bra. Or without having people think he was hurt, as he would no longer be shrieking like an animal caught in a trap.  I dismissed the thought immediately.  Two years old? Pah!  It seems so far into the future as to be impossible.  And now, here he is, sleeping upstairs in his pirate pajamas, and he is almost double the age I thought it was ridiculous to imagine.

My boy, my son! It is still odd for me to say those words, still odd for me to think of myself as a mother, yet I cannot imagine a time when I was without him.  He was sick a few weeks ago.  When I went and picked him up (miserable and looking very small and ill), it felt strange to take him home and know exactly what to do.  I spread sheets over the couch and got his blanky.  I stripped his smelly sweatshirt from him and replaced it with soft pajamas.  He sipped Gatorade and watched cartoons while I stroked his hair, all the while thinking that I was his mother.


That's one of the whole points of parenthood, I think.  It makes you slow down, makes you aware of the passage of time.  It irritates me when Sam whines for his "sleepy blanky".  But at the same time, I know I will turn around one day and Sam, God willing, will be a man.  And I'll be holding a hunk of crocheted, used-to-be-blue yarn and thinking, "remember when Sam was little, remember when he couldn't sleep without this?"  Already it gives me pause to think of how that moment will feel.


I love you, you noisy, crazy little boy.  I will adore and protect you as long as I breathe, and probably after.  You are my very heart, and these almost-four years have been beyond imagination.  I can't wait to see what's next!