it’s been three years today. three wild and crazy and beautiful years ago we welcomed our third little tow-head boy. our third boy in just five years. joy. chaos. wonder and love. inexpressible love. a feeling so big you can never quite wrap your arms around it. a love so deep, so pure, so beyond the adequacy of simple words.
our littlest one is pure joy. with our first son we were so anxious to see what he could do: what he would learn, who he would be, what his voice would sound like, how wonderful he would grow. with our second son we took things a bit slower but were amazed with his abilities, his tenacity, resolve and spirit. our third little boy is our baby. he is, and always will be, our baby, baby boy. we delight in him. in drawing out his babyhood and boyhood as long as we possibly can. his voice, his laugh, the twinkle in his little eye. his mischief, voracious appetite, his sweet tender hugs and unexpected kisses. everything. every single thing. joy.
last night he went to bed with the big boys. it nearly makes my heart skip a beat when i walk out of their bedroom, looking back at three little boys snuggled in two big beds. bonding in the dark. the closeness, the silliness. the whispers and giggles that float down the stairs on the soap bubble suds of shared boyhood dreams.
i know his nights left in the crib are very few. and so we love the sound of his diapered bottom sliding down each stair. slow. steady. stealth. …or not so much. my husband and i grin as we listen to him sneak to our bedroom door, still hidden in the darkness of the hall. quiet, he sits. he waits. waits for an invitation he knows will come. “c’mon buddy, come snuggle with us.” and in he runs in with his blankie under his arm, and the biggest smile on his face, to sleep between us another night.
laying together i was reading my book. a few lines between each playful glance and giggle. it’s my most favorite thing, when he snuggles down into me, resting his head on my chest. sometimes he’ll take his hand and pat my arm or gently rub my back. tonight he reached out his little hands and tenderly placed them in mine.
tiny, chubby, sweet, tender hands.
and that’s when i saw. the curve of his thumb, the shape of his finger, knuckle and nail.
exact tiny replicas of my hands. my father’s hands. my brother’s hands. the hands i grew up knowing. loving. strong, capable, beautiful hands. i wonder, how did i miss this? a sweet, tender moment between us snuggled in bed on the eve of his third birthday. a gift to me. his hands. my hands. our hands.
don’t miss the wonder. the simple things really are the best things.
happy birthday my darling Will.