Five years ago, while the rest of the world slept, I pushed you out into the world. I’d dreamed of you, my little boy, many times before meeting you. I had no proof that I was carrying a boy. We wanted another magical moment of surprise, but I was sure nonetheless. Just like I’d been certain with Bella.
But dreams, no matter how vivid, are not reality. And so when the Dr. held you up and said those three amazing words, “It’s a boy!” I didn’t fully trust my ears. It wasn’t until I held you and inspected you that I was truly convinced that I had a son.
With you, every day has been a discovery, novelties never experienced with my sisters in my childhood home. First there were the hazards of changing a boy in the chill of the night without being hit in the eye by an errant stream of pee. Then there was the fascination with all things with a motor: trains, cars, boats, and even escalators. And now there is the need to channel all of your energy, your exuberant all-boy energy, into an ever growing repertoire of athletic activities. The fields of Little League await.
I’ve learned to suggest Legos instead of crafts. I’ve found a special place in my heart for Thomas the Train and have learned to think of him as much more than a lifeless machine. I’ve learned that your curiosity for hot lava, NASA, and bridges knows no bounds. I’ve found boy dress up clothes to let your friends play the cowboys and Darth Vaders and chase your princess sisters.
Five years ago, I sat in the dark for a few hours, treasuring the secret that only Steve and I knew. At dawn, we were ready to share our secret with the world, but for a few hours, we held on to the knowledge that we had joined the club of parents of boys.