one little boy, one little man
My youngest son is my shadow. When we are joined again following a day apart, I am honestly struck by how much I've missed him. When I ask if he missed me, he'll say no, but the way he edges closer to my side and smirks gives him away. We'd be fantastic partners in crime if we weren't such horrible liars.
Instead, we are dance partners. Dinner has been late more than once because we've decided it necessary to break down some sweet moves to Mr. Roboto while the sauce boils over. The kid loves the classics, which explains why Baby Got Back is currently his favorite song to sing, although his fascination with Beyonce's Single Ladies remains steadfast, his love of Lady Gaga's Poker Face is growing, and The Black Eyed Peas' I Got A Feeling is a constant hum coming from his bedroom each night.
I'd willingly slay dragons for this boy. I'd also happily sit with him for hours and spin stories of a dragon that shoots glitter rather than flames from his beastly nostrils, or listen to one of the myriad of tales he's nearly bursting to share with me by day's end. "And then..." he'll tease, forcing me to the edge of my seat. "...he puked and it had so many brown chunks in it, every kid in the lunchroom could tell what he'd had for breakfast that day!" Not every story can have a happy ending!
My son arrived in this world very, very quietly in front of a very, very large audience looking so exactly like his older brother when he was born that I actually demanded a different baby. Of course, I'm glad the team of medical professionals tending to him ignored me because I'd have missed out on the magic this child has brought to our house. His audience was large on the day he was born, and it's only grown since. So has his once quiet voice. Today, my youngest bursts into rooms and commands the floor. He's a song and dance man, a puller of funny faces, an impeccable mimic and a willing practitioner of my personal favorite habit - adopting an English accent at random times. I've little doubt he's going to be the best (and perhaps right quite proper) firefly in his second grade class musical production of Bugs! next week. I've also little doubt he's going to tire of me singing that Fireflies song every time we practice his lines.
To quote from that song, I'd like to make myself believe that planet Earth turns slowly, but that's impossible to believe. If it were so, my son wouldn't suddenly be 8 years old. Thank you for the stories, the scenes, the songs and the dance steps. Thank you for starting each day with smooches and ending them with cries of "I said good day, sir!" Thank you for tagging along with me.
Happy birthday, sweet shadow boy.
Labels: funny how time flies