Family Story: The Boy

If I'd begun this post along with the other two, it would read much differently than it will today. At two-and-a-half, Judah's development (especially verbal) feels accelerated more than any other time in his life. I look at photos of him from when Selah was born, and he was a baby. Today, Judah is a boy.

And BOY, is he a BOY.

Since he was born, we have noticed differences between Judah and his older sister. Okay, that sounds like an obvious statement, but infinitely fascinating are the similarities and differences between two small people (or three!) made by dipping into the exact same bucket of genes. Though Judah takes many cues from his sister, he can not help but be himself: a growling, wiry, ferocious boy. At certain times during the day, you can be looking at his face and practically SEE the testosterone washing over his brain, as he glazes over and scans the room for something to ram into.

(Often, it's me he chooses to steamroll. I've come to take it as a display of affection.)

I'd heard from friends with boys about this energy, the wild eyes, the love manifested in head-butting. The other side of these behaviors is a seemingly disparate tenderness and sensitivity that balances out the wildness and gives his mother further cause to kiss his serious little cheeks. He already hates this, and I already don't care.

A little about Judah at 2 1/2:

The love for animals of any kind has not waned in the slightest. Highly favored are dogs, wolves, dinosaurs, horses, and anything of the barnyard variety. Judah's preferences are most clearly demonstrated in his requests for sketches. "Drawing" to Judah involves bringing the nearest adult a sheet of paper (or the MagnaDoodle, as opportunity dictates) with the demand, thinly veiled as a request: "Draw? Neigh?" "Mommy. Draw. Big. Woof. Puff! House down!" "Draw neigh! Barn! Hay, mommy!"

It doesn't happen often that art is a solo activity, but I happened to sneak up on him this one time.

Though he wanted to be a horse or a cow for Halloween, budget and sensibility dictated use of the monkey costume for Judah this year. Once the costume was on him and he realized he could be a FEROCIOUS monkey, he was fine with it. (Selah's 6-12 month chicken costume was equally acceptable when he came out wearing that, growling and snarling and threatening his sister.)

Judah takes a great nap each afternoon, lasting 2-3 hours. When he wakes up, he is grumpy and surly for 20 minutes or so. The daily salve for the post-nap grumpies include a snack, a sippy, and a little downtime in front of PBS Kids, and Judah refers to this snack/tv combo as "Gah-kehr! Muvie!"

Judah loves breakfast, can handle lunch, and rarely touches his dinner. The promise of dessert isn't even on his radar.

Judah WILL eat dinner if it is oatmeal or spaghetti.

He still lets me dress him.

Judah is squarely in the twos, and he behaves accordingly. He has begun asking "Why?" and "What doing?" when the answers to such questions are blatantly self-evident. He seems to prefer conflict and will disagree with whatever opinion is put forth by Derek or myself, even to the detriment of his own interests. We've done two-and-a-half before, though, and the second time around we've found it easier to roll our eyes and not be as fazed by it. More tedious are the repeated readings of his chosen books (Lady and the Tramp, Jungle Book, Sleeping Beauty, and Curious George,) and movies ("Beauty and the Beast" is still going strong, though even Eden will now say with teary eyes and wavering voice, "Mommy, I just don't want to watch Beauty and the Beast over... and over... and OVER again!") He has a favorite song when his and Eden's bedtime routines coincide, and he requests "Noah" (Judah speak for "Arky Arky") each and every evening. But there's another song that turns his mouth into its former baby smile and crinkles his nose just the tiniest bit when his momma sings it to him, and he must remember fondly, as I do, last winter.

With two kids and two parents who were usually home during the bedtime hour, Derek and I would divide and conquer the end-of-the-day routines. In the dark of his bedroom, light filtering in from the moon behind the trees and the nightlight in the hall, I held and rocked my boy, my youngest. His long, fleecey-footed toddler legs straddled his sister, tucked away in my belly for another several weeks. For now, I held my then-baby to my chest, his head on my shoulder, his breath-through-binky on my neck, and sang his night time song:

The north wind doth blow

And we shall have snow

And what will the robin do then,

Poor thing?

He'll sit in the barn

And keep himself warm

And hide his head under his wing,

Poor thing!

Poor thing!

Poor thing!

I am the poor thing, I fear. As I learn more and more about what it is to have a son, beyond the stick swords and the rammy affection, I glean more experiential knowledge about the mother-son relationship, including that of my husband and mother-in-law. Perceived Oedipal overtones aside: I am already praying that God would prepare my mother's heart to let him go someday, to love another woman.

Today, I'm hugging my boy.