Much Ado About Blue

Today, my baby turned two. I remember when Josephine (who will be 4 in a matter of days) had her second birthday party- having just had Samuel, and being pregnant for 9 months prior, I was accustomed to no longer thinking of Josephine as "the baby"; there was a new little person claiming that title. However, the thought of Samuel now at that same age no longer being "the baby" seems utterly foreign and bazaar. He is SO the baby, and with no replacement in sight, I really can't see that changing anytime soon. The contemplation of Samuel's forcasted eternal babydom does make me wonder- How did I ever become such a "boy mom"?

My prevailing vision of mothers of sons has always occupied some form of a slightly militaristic woman sporting a scowl and an SUV and a bad short haircut (possibly wearing a jersey of some kind with a matching scrunchie), and the sons as being rough and tough and dirty and well, boys. I never had brothers, or much of a fatherly presence, or any otherwise functioning male relationship growing up, so how on earth would I be able to even relate to such a foreign creature? Given these circumstances it is easy to see why I honestly thought I would never want to have any part in this exchange; I am all ribbons and sunshine and poetry and always assumed any son I brought in to this world would have no other option but to turn out gay. When Isabella was born I was so completely relieved to have had a girl I remember calling out "PINK!" in my post labor delirium. I must admit however, that for some inexplicable reason, Samuel changed all that- It was just like that moment when you try on the perfect ring, or wedding dress, or pair of Jimmy Choos- he was a perfect fit from the moment he laid on my chest... I just knew. Granted, he does wear pink Polo shirts, has been known to clutch his favorite silky ribbon around town, and my husband is convinced he's going to end up writing greeting cards for a living (a completely honorable profession if you ask me), but he LOVES garbage trucks and bugs and spitting, so it must all even out in the end. At any given moment I simultaneously want to eat him with a spoon and fold him up and put him in my pocket, snips and snails and puppy dog tails and all. Even when he has skipped his bath and Wes claims his junior smells like hamster cage, I am completely intoxicated by his "special" scent... In short, I am unequivocally, inextricably hooked. And how is it that I am harder on my girls than I am with Sammie? A scene from Friends comes to mind when Monica says to her newborn, "I will love you so much that no woman will ever be good enough for you!" and, now, I finally get it.

Happy Birthday Sonny