Freshly minted adorableness.
Mr. Boy with his posse.
I remember feeling so anxious about having a boy. Feeling quite the expert on raising baby girls, the thought of a boy was quite panic-inducing. (not to mention the large bins of baby girl outfits x2 that had taken up an entire closet... all those clothes going to waste!) And I was partially right, having a boy is an entirely different experience. He is so starkly unique from his big sisters, and it is beautiful. Sure, he's really into opening up drawers and thrashing his little hand inside, sometimes removing all the silverware and dumping them into a loud pile on the kitchen floor. But he's also acutely concerned about his Mommy. I don't want to throw around the phrase "Momma's boy," as that carries a deeply negative connotation. No, his warm feelings towards me- and only me- are a profoundly special trait that I treasure. He's quick to hug me, and pat my back with his chubby hands. His first words are usually "Mama!" each and every morning. The girls, while I know they love me intensely, are definitely more "independent" in nature... and have been from the beginning. Maybe because they've always had each other, and that is a special relationship in and of itself.
And while I've brought it up, having a singleton vs. twins: that's also a brand new experience. I have relished the truly one-on-one time with a newborn, free of the constant guilt that newborn #2 was being left out. (Mom of twins guilt)
Still, this boy? He is my boy. All mine.
A couple weeks before Little Man's official birthday, I scheduled a photoshoot with the kids and there was terribly bad weather on the ONE DAY that was picked as picture day. We had ordered a scad of balloons for the photoshoot, and the 30 mph winds made them... superfluous.
Having an enormous amount of balloons on hand, we decided to push up the birthday celebrations:
Yes, that is me restraining the child as he blows out his candle. The kid does not understand the burning power of fire. And nobody wants a handprint on their slice of cake.
The kid enjoys cake... he gets that from my side of the family.
And now for an impromptu poll: what to do with Little Man's hair. Some (like my grandmother) insist he needs a haircut. Others (like myself) tend to show their inner-hippie and don't want to cut his luscious curly locks.
I just can't take scissors to those curls! And I don't care how many passersby in Target call him a girl. I don't care! I will take hair comments from the internet... but I'm pretty sure he's going to have a long flowing mane for the foreseeable future.
Cliff's Notes of this post: The Boy is Awesome. I Love Him: Happy Second Birthday. And Yea or Nay on Cutting the Curls?
(yes, I am aware that not all of that needed to be capitalized. Send the grammatical police if you dare)