My Little Boy

I write about A all the time.  Probably because I spent the most time with her.  She needed me the most.  The crisis we faced was HER crisis more than anyone else's.  But regardless of the reason, I talk about her a lot.

I don't talk about her half-brother a lot.  And he was my baby too.  In fact, he was almost more my baby... because when I brought him home at 8 weeks old, no one had ever attended to his needs the way I did.  I was his first secure attachment.  I was the one he wanted when nobody else could calm him down.  I never even realized the gravity of it until my mom told me one day, after the umpteenth person had handed him back to me to handle, "You're his favorite person in the whole world.  Nobody loves him like you do."

And I cried.  I held my baby boy - my first baby boy, and cried.  Because I loved him so much.

First picture... blurry picture... of his first night home.

I was the one up with him all those sleepless nights.  I was the one who comforted him when he didn't feel well (which was often, as he had a rather stubborn case of GERD among other things).  He slept by my side in a cosleeper for six months.  I bought his formula, his diapers, his clothes.  I saw his precious smiles.  I was there for all his firsts.

First bath

First baby food

First time swimming

First trip to the pumpkin patch

First Trick-or-Treat

First birthday

And now, three years after that last picture was taken... my baby boy is four.

And I forgot his birthday until today.

No, it wasn't his first birthday without me.  Yes, it's been over a year since I've seen him.  Yes, I was up to my ears in something else that day.  But when it was his sister's birthday in May, I broke - completely.  And I forgot his.  And he was my baby.

How horrible is that?

When I realized it tonight - that my baby boy turned FOUR without me ever noticing - I knew it was coming up, I never forgot the date... but I missed it - I started to cry.

Four.

Tonight I want to take a minute to talk about my little boy... who isn't such a baby anymore.

He loved mashed potatoes.  And pizza.  And pretty much any kind of junk food... but when he was a baby, peas were his favorite.

His first word was "duck".  And I put a lot of effort into that!  The kid had more ducks than I can count on all my fingers and toes.

My mom used to sing him "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep", and he'd get this serene little smile on his face, like that song just made everything better... even when I teased her after realizing that the lyrics sort of, kind of suggest that it might be about slavery.

His favorite toys were balls, cars, and any markers he could get his hands on.  Thus the following picture:

Once, he dumped out an entire bag of potato chips, and then laid in them.  Some people would've been mad.  I barely managed to stop laughing long enough to take a picture.

He loved his bath... except for the part where I had to wash his hair.  He didn't like water to touch his head... at first I thought it was just lying down, but dumping it was worse.

When he was 18 months old he broke his leg while not in my care.  He had just barely started walking and then had to drag that heavy thing around half the summer... it sucked.  But it didn't keep my little guy down.

This is the last picture I took of him...

My best friend was cutting his sister's hair, and he took it upon himself to find one of her daughter's headbands and put it on - his way.  It was too cute not to take a picture!

He was two and a half when I said goodbye to him.  I had no idea it would be the last goodbye for so long.

He faced so many struggles in his short little life.  I wonder how he's doing now.  If his fits have calmed down or gotten worse.  If his language has improved, or slacked.  If he's still my chunky monkey who was wearing 4T shirts at two.  If he's anywhere near potty training.  If he's going to Head Start.

Even just where he is.

Because that little boy is another piece of my heart, walking around outside my body.  And maybe I didn't have him as long, or as intensely, as I had his sister, but he was my little boy all the same.  And I miss him.  I love him.

Happy late birthday little man.  I know it's no excuse, but if you were here, I wouldn't have forgotten.  We'd have had a party.  Maybe driven down to Nelsonville to ride the train (if you don't like trains, you would have if you'd stuck around me much longer!) like we did when my brother was that age.

One day we'll be together again.  I know it.  Love you much, my little goober pea.