Five

His birth was torturous. I will spare you details except these bullet points:

The arrival of The Middle One coincided with the crumbling of the rest of our lives. My husband was out of work, my mother was dying and I had a new job. Remembering the post-partum depression that followed my first-born, I was totally prepared to go down the same road with this one. I mean, why wouldn’t I experience it, all things considered?

I didn’t. Not even a bit. That boy arrived, battered and bruised after putting us both through hell for 10 days, 18 hours and six minutes, and my heart instantly Grinched. (You know, grew three sizes that day). I remember thinking when I held him for the first time, aah-so this is what all those new baby books mean. Of course, I adore The Girl and I stared in wonder at her for hours after she was born. But this boy. This boy was different.
This boy made me forget-every time I looked at him-that the world outside his deep blue eyes was anything less than perfect. My sisters in law tell me he was really ugly. They are probably right. He was black and blue and his head was as flat as a pancake. It was a tough ride for the poor kid and his battle scars showed.

All I remember is total perfection.

We snuggled for two days while tsunamis ravaged the earth and unemployment and Cancer still plagued our own home. None of it mattered. For two days I sang Beautiful Boy and held, nursed and shared a bed with the little man who made all my troubles melt away.

Here we are, five years later. He isn’t quite as serene as he was in those early days. He now wears his heart on his sleeve, just like the battle scars of his birth. He is a raw nerve, which means some days he challenges me from dawn ’till dusk and other days he is warmer than an August sun. He is kind. He is sensitive. He loves hard and is fiercely loyal to those in his heart. He is hilarious. He is frighteningly intelligent. He can tear you down or build you up with just one look. No matter his mood, his eyes are still bluer than blue and he still makes me forget all my troubles.
He will age again soon. He will grow taller faster than I (or his pants) can imagine. He will need me less and less. Yet through it all, he will always be my (beautiful) baby boy.