Dude 2 has the most uneventful birth story of all of my three children.
No near death experiences. No 3am trips to the emergency room.
Just a c-section, scheduled months in advance on St. Patrick’s Day, 2005.
We got up at some ungodly hour, kissed our sleeping 3 year-old goodbye, and headed off to the hospital where he was promptly removed from my belly.
Our anesthesiologist took photos.
Of my open abdomen.
I won’t share, but man are they fascinating.
He came screeching into the world at a whopping 8lbs 8oz at barely 38 weeks gestation (I am afraid to know what I would’ve had if he baked until 40 weeks).
He was the easiest to nurse of all of my babies -his hungry mouth made for the perfect latch.
He did well in the hospital and had an uneventful transition to home four days later.
He could roll over at 3 months and sit up at 5.
When we took him in for his 6 month appointment, he tipped the scales at 20lbs.
By 7 months he was crawling and at 10 he was a full fledged walker.
He started talking shortly before his 1st birthday and for the life of me I can not recall what his first word was, probably dada. Or poopy. He said that a lot.
Since the beginning he has always been my most vocal, opinionated, intense child.
He likes what he likes and he hates a lot of everything else.
He is full of emotions and, while he hides them well from the outside world, he is bursting with them at home.
He’s charismatic, clever, charming, funny, and smart. Much smarter than he lets on.
He loves as hard as he fights and he has a heart bigger than the state of Texas.
He cries when he watches sports movies based on real events and American Idol.
His very best friend in the entire world is his 9 year old brother, followed closely by his much older Mimi.
He is by far my most challenging child, but I love every moment of his exciting life (okay, so like, not every moment, but, you know, a lot of the moments).
He is this