PEY’s birth was not the best of circumstances, for sure. David had only been home from the hospital for a week after his horrific stint with pancreatitis. My grandmother had passed away two weeks earlier. And I was exhausted.
I labored forever, only to find out that PEY was breach and the only way he was going to be joining this world was via c-section.
I didn’t sleep in the hospital. The bed adjusted it’s inflation every four minutes, and inevitably I would wake-up. I think I was also in hyper Mama mode.
I struggled with breast-feeding, and six months later it never really got easier for me. But I did it, and pushed through and just reminded myself of the gift I was giving my son.
And here we are, a day away from my babe’s 2nd birthday. This means David and I have been parents for two years. I am still in awe of the love I have for that little guy. Even on Sunday evenings when I want to sell him to the gypsies, the love is indescribable.
PEY is special, and I know this not just because I am his Mama, but just because he is. He is happy and funny and a handful. He loves to entertain and dance and clap and make faces to get you to laugh. He loves his Daddy and anything that Daddy does, he wants to do.
He loves to be outside, to take walks, to pull his wagon. He ADORES the ducks at the beach and is content to sit and watch for them for long periods of time. He also loves anything that moves, trucks, trains, cars, airplanes, diggers, dump trucks, motorcycles…the list could go on and on. He even spent a day last week at daycare, just starting out the window at the diggers doing construction next door. He loves his books and has even been able to extract himself from his crib in order to get to his books faster. We have found him in his room, in his chair on a Saturday morning, just reading away. But don’t try and read him the books that you want to read at bedtime, no sir-e-bob, that boy has a clear idea of what books he wants read. He insists that he doesn’t need to hold our hands to do just about anything anymore and sadly, he is right. He is fearless and daring and ends up with a new bruise or a cut or stitches every week.
My boy is a joy. A challenging, headstrong, willful, funny, delightful joy. And tomorrow he turns 2. He rocked our world when he was born, throwing us headfirst into parenthood. And we have stumbled and fallen, but I know for a fact that it has made our little family stronger and it was made my heart expand in ways that I didn’t even know were possible.
