Little Man Turns Ten
It's been ten years since they placed a puckered, pale Aaron onto my chest. I remember that warm fall night for many reasons. Some silly: Tim forgot the camera, but the hospital was so close to our house that there was time for him to head home and get it--I could hold off on pushing. And some not: I had hoped to deliver naturally, which didn't happen. (Vaginal, yes. Without drugs, no.) I remember asking the hospital staff for food almost seconds after Aaron came into this world, and having the doctor ask me how I could be thinking of food. Well, lady, I just worked very hard, wouldn't you say? Of course, I'm hungry. I remember the nurse, Carol Caroll (yes, that was her name), leaning close to my ear and whispering that she'd find me something to put into my stomach. That small meal of canned tomato soup was the best I'd ever eaten, I have to say.
But what I remember most of all is that I was nervous. About having a baby boy to look after when I'd had no experience with boys. Even now, ten years later and despite the decade of experience, I'll still say I don't know what I'm doing. I simply take each day as it comes and adjust accordingly. And what I've noticed is this: it doesn't pay to be nervous. It's much better to listen and learn.
And learn, I have. I've learned that boys are very different from girls and yet so similar. I've learned to cover the penis when changing a diaper and that tighty-whities on a toddler are actually cute. I've learned that some kids charge ahead at every opportunity and that because a wall is there, some of them will try to climb it. I've discovered that pi really is a wonderful number and that prime numbers are pretty special. I know the ins and outs of Legos and why Doctor Who is the best show on the planet. (Well, maybe the Simpsons are even with that old chap.) I've also learned that potty humor never, ever, gets old, at least when it comes to a ten-year-old boy.
It's difficult to wrap my head around the fact that Aaron is now two full hands old, that he is in the double digits, that he's closer to leaving this house than staying in it. I tear up thinking about all the times I've complained about his noisy feet, his constant barrage of words, his inability to eat ice cream without dribbling some of it onto his shirt, the chair, and sometimes, even the floor. I'll miss those days when they're no longer here. That, I know.
And so I'm going to revel in the time we have left. Continue to open up my arms when he snuggles next to me at 3 a.m. or when he comes up behind me as I'm making dinner. I'm going to try to open my eyes and ears to this little green-eyed boy who wakes up each morning, ready to accept the challenges in front of him. I'm excited to see what he builds and who he becomes. So excited.
Happy Birthday, Little Man.
But what I remember most of all is that I was nervous. About having a baby boy to look after when I'd had no experience with boys. Even now, ten years later and despite the decade of experience, I'll still say I don't know what I'm doing. I simply take each day as it comes and adjust accordingly. And what I've noticed is this: it doesn't pay to be nervous. It's much better to listen and learn.
And learn, I have. I've learned that boys are very different from girls and yet so similar. I've learned to cover the penis when changing a diaper and that tighty-whities on a toddler are actually cute. I've learned that some kids charge ahead at every opportunity and that because a wall is there, some of them will try to climb it. I've discovered that pi really is a wonderful number and that prime numbers are pretty special. I know the ins and outs of Legos and why Doctor Who is the best show on the planet. (Well, maybe the Simpsons are even with that old chap.) I've also learned that potty humor never, ever, gets old, at least when it comes to a ten-year-old boy.
It's difficult to wrap my head around the fact that Aaron is now two full hands old, that he is in the double digits, that he's closer to leaving this house than staying in it. I tear up thinking about all the times I've complained about his noisy feet, his constant barrage of words, his inability to eat ice cream without dribbling some of it onto his shirt, the chair, and sometimes, even the floor. I'll miss those days when they're no longer here. That, I know.
And so I'm going to revel in the time we have left. Continue to open up my arms when he snuggles next to me at 3 a.m. or when he comes up behind me as I'm making dinner. I'm going to try to open my eyes and ears to this little green-eyed boy who wakes up each morning, ready to accept the challenges in front of him. I'm excited to see what he builds and who he becomes. So excited.
Happy Birthday, Little Man.
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