"Are you a big boy, or a baby?" I ask the wiggly boy in my lap.
"BABY!" he yells.
He is not just any baby, he is my baby.
When I wordlessly held the stick with the very clear two lines up in front of my husband, you could have knocked him over with a feather. We had never gotten pregnant without trying, and sometimes trying and trying, and we were surprised. Very surprised.
As we watched a fuzzy black screen come to life as a cold wand slid over my jellied belly, and listened to the tech say the words "There is your son," we were surprised.
When he was born in an unexpected way, we were surprised. When he walked sooner and ran faster and climbed higher, we were surprised, and slightly terrified. He hurtles his little body through space at alarming speeds, with frightening velocity and little regard for the laws of physics, or his mother's nerves. Our days are filled with near misses and bumps and bruises and boo boo packs. Our days are filled with surprises.
He is adored by his sisters and babied and mommied and loved within an inch of his life. He is the sweetest and the cuddliest and the most charming, we all agree. There is not a woman of any age who is safe from him, all long eyelashes and sweet smile and chubby little hands waving. He has us all wrapped around his tiny finger.
And so today, as I pulled him into my lap, I ask again-
"Henry! It's your birthday! Are you two today?"
"Jep!" he answers.
"Yes, you are two! Are you a big boy, or a baby?"
He smiles his Henry smile and cuddles closer and says without hesitation, "Baby."
Yes, you are. Now and always, my baby.
2 weeks ago