It seems impossible. As though his birth was just yesterday. He crawls into my lap during the day, resting the wide, flat palm of his hand on my upper arm, my cheek. He presses his face close to mine and says, "Hi Mommy!" in his sweet little boy voice, and the tenderness seeps into my chest and fills the cracks of my soul. His smile is wide and open, his eyes huge and blue and always searching. His golden halo of hair rubs against my nose, my chin, my neck and he rests his head on my shoulder, reaching his hand around to rub the back of my arm. Just like he did as a newborn baby.
He's a physical boy, finding joy in frog-leaping across the couch cushions and dive-bombing into his daddy's arms. He is lifted up toward the heavens by strong arms, and with the utmost faith that we'll always keep him safe, he raises his hands out in front of him and says to me, "Look, mommy! I did it!"
He's physical and rough and tumble and wild weeds unfurling in a spring lawn. And yet, his is a tenderness that exudes from a pure sweet soul. He's always been a tactile boy, clutching at a soft blanket as he runs around the house like a whirling dervish. He learns by doing, and he's doing all the time. One of his favorite activities is reading a book on my lap while one hand absently rubs my knee and other holds my index finger in a tiger's grip and uses it to point to things on the page. "Dat?" he asks, and then answers his own question by telling me what it is. Sometimes I test him, telling him I think a car is a plane, and he laughs like he's in on the joke, saying, "Noooooo, mommy! Blue car!" I tickle the spot where his pulse pounds in his collarbone, and a peel of laughter escapes from his body, making my heart catch in my throat.
He's amazing, this magical boy. He's never met a person he dislikes. His run is wild and carefree, all blonde hair bouncing atop his head and arms reaching out to the stars. Before him, I didn't know it was possible to be born with comic timing, but I could swear he was.
He was born into our home, quite literally, and he instantly filled a space in our family we hadn't realized we'd been holding just for him. He has taught me so much about being a mom, and his dad and sister so much about who they are. We are so lucky to have this boy in our lives.
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Today, we slept in until nearly 7 a.m., a miracle by all accounts. I woke to him and his sister both in my bed, pushing my husband and me to the outermost banks of the mattress. He pulled us downstairs ("Wake up, Mommy!") where we ate homemade blueberry pancakes and eggs from my mom's chickens and banana slices. His sister helped him open 2 gifts on the couch. My camera battery was charging, but they wouldn't be stopped, so I snapped a few pictures with my cell phone instead.
This park outing reignited his love for bubbles and prompted his first 6 word sentence: "I want to go bubbles outside!"
We went to dinner, where he spent most of the time facing over the back of the booth to watch a baby at the table behind us eat. I begged him to sit, and he hopped a few times on the bench, bent and met my eyes and said to me, "I like babies." I caved. Who wouldn't cave when their 2 year old boy says they like babies? My husband and I exchanged meaningful glances over our salad and breadsticks, both of us saying with our eyes, "We like babies too, dammit!".
When I tucked him into bed, he was silly tired. I handed him his favorite blankie and his puppy, and told him I loved him so very much. I said, "Thank you, Mo. You are my magical little boy."
He replied, "You magic, mama."
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Happy Birthday, My Magic Boy.
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