Looking over my archives, it seems that AM has gotten the shaft in terms of celebratory birthday posts. Of course! #secondchildPesachUStaxseason
So what can I tell you? That he turned out to be the best surprise ever ever ever?
I started this blog because I needed a place to deal with how I was feeling about being unexpectedly pregnant, having a toddler, tandem nursing, and being ever so tired. I was feeling guilty, exhausted, and petrified. His birth, like Miss M’s, was a long, long, long story. But (cheesy alert) the second I saw his little face, I knew it was going to be ok. Wherein it = everything.
Now, 5 years on, he is a smart strawberry blond with an impish grin. He still talks with his hands, but sweeping Israeli gestures have replaced ASL. He sings all the time; loves music; has won the affection of every music teacher to ever cross his path. He has a great sense of humor, appreciates jokes, and will probably beat Miss M to the understanding of sarcasm. Of course, he also knows when he’s being an impish, adorable smart-ass because he looks at us, cocks his head, and waits for a reaction. Yes, it’s hard to punish.
He has a good heart and good manners. And, like any good redhead, he is stubborn and has a temper. It’s maddening when he lashes out or digs in for no good reason and has to be carted off to cool down. Good thing he’s still just 39 pounds.
He’s an incredible helper. Weirdly so. I can sometimes distract him from a tantrum by coming up with chores for him to do: scrubbing toilets, putting away cutlery, sweeping the floor, cooking. Especially cooking. He’s a whiz in the kitchen. Loves it. Pancakes are his favorite things to make–he measures the ingredients, then stirs, ladles and flips from his perch on a stool. If I try to help him, he grabs the spatula away from me with his right hand and uses his left to push me away. “I’m doing it! Ema, I’m doing it!”
He is the self-appointed boo-boo man in the house, taking the crown away from Taxman. Watching him coddle Miss M and her teeny-tiny scratches–applying Neosporin and band-aids and a kiss–makes me melt every time.
He loves taking photographs and wildflowers and the beach. And coffee. (He understands life’s small pleasures.)
But vestiges of little are still there. He loves his toy cars and trucks. He sucks his thumb and curls up for the night in my bed. He’s in that phase of life where you can’t put him to bed without reading him a story. (Tragic, right?) He hugs tightly around the neck and won’t let go. Then I call him my baby monkey.
Happy 5th birthday, Boo Bear. We love you.