Reminiscing and A Love Note About My 2nd Son

Today is the day we celebrate the birth of my 2nd son, who turned 8 today. I find it so utterly amazing as it feels like I can reach into my memory and touch it all as if it were yesterday.

Calling my Mom in a panic… I wasn’t ready for a 2nd child, I loved my 1st one so much, how in the world could I love another? Her answer being, “D., love does not divide, it multiplies.” And she was right.

I was made for breeding. Flat out, my body takes to it well. My pregnancies are easy, I never gain too much weight, and I feel good. (Well, other than becoming mildly gestationally diabetic, but that was no big deal for me.) I look good too when I’m pregnant. I’m happy, people want to be around me, and I have a glow according to TGOO.

My first labor had been a bad labor and I felt I made some mistakes, one of which was going to the hospital too early. I was determined that this one, I would stick it out as long as possible. I realized I was in the early stages of labor while I was at work, so I quietly folded up my work, told everyone I was tired, hugged them all and said I didn’t think I would be coming back, and I left. It was 10:00. I picked up my eldest and came home. I called my Mom and told her I thought it would be the next day, but they got in the car and started their 9 hour drive immediately. I called my in-laws and told them not to worry, but that I thought I might be in labor and I would be calling. They showed up 30 minutes later. Geez. I was calm. All these people seemed so freaky, but they weren't... I was in denial, they were steeped in reality. I think it was Noon by then.

I called my doctor. We had a big argument. I was calling to inform him that I felt certain my baby and I would be ruining his dinner plans. He wanted me in the hospital and I said no. So we compromised. He had me come to the office, but was very short with me and told me I BETTER have my bags in the car. So my husband came home as I was vacuuming the entire house and off we went.

I have to admit. I felt kinda crappy.

We got to the office, they hooked me up to a baby monitor, and I was in full labor and within an hour of delivering. We were told not to pass go and not to collect $200, but to go DIRECTLY to the hospital. We got there at 2. My son was born at 3. The doctor got there just in time, doing a Kramer type entrance. Piece of cake birth.

And then there he was, eight pounds of wonderfully sweet baby boy. He has a wonderful name… fitting for a Knight at King Arthur’s Round Table.

He is my white boy. Whereas my eldest looks like he should be playing stick ball in the streets of Italy, my middle boy is my wee lad; he is my Celt. Blonde haired, blue eyed, and skin so white we called him Casper for the longest time, he has settled into a light brown hair, with the most amazing blue eyes.

He is sweet. Teachers and girls love him and boys want to be his friend. Affectionate doesn’t begin to describe him. At 8, he is the boy who will still crawl in the nook of my arm and snuggle or who will quietly creep into my bed at 4AM, thinking I don’t hear him, so he can sleep between his Dad and me.

A smart boy, he is very analytical and quick with numbers. He has amazing fine and gross motor skills. He’s my soccer player and the kid who loves arts and crafts. Reading has not come as easy since we struggled early with a speech apraxia, but he caught up and is now doing very well.

But he is my boy with the tender heart. My boy who I worry for the most. My boy who is sometimes filled with more sorrow than I think of for most children his age. A death of someone close very early on in his childhood, and the events surrounding that death, have made him very in tune with his mortality, definitely more so than the average 8 year old. I am angry at myself that I did not protect him more from what he witnessed, but I was unaware and dealing with my own grief. So I am very protective of him, although I cannot right a wrong. I worry a girl will break his heart... and he won’t move on. I am worried for his teenage years, the sullen years and how he will deal. I worry for him constantly, more so than for my other two, although I am good at not showing it.

I take some comfort, however, that I made it through all those tough times, teenage years and the opposite sex, for of my 3… he may be the most like me.

I do not post pictures of my children… but today, I could not resist. Every year I create a collage of each child commemorating the previous year. This is my 2nd son, age 6.


Thanks to ImageShack for [URL=http://www.imageshack.us]Free Image Hosting[/URL]

So to my middle son, I tell the blogosphere, “I love you, my son, more than you will ever know.”