My littlest guy turns ten today (sing it!). I can safely say that for me the first year of his life I gave over in this way I couldn’t have with the others. I knew he’d grow up, something I wasn’t entirely convinced about with the first one. I knew babyhood would be quick. I felt as if he was the icing on the cake (I love icing) and rather than be guilty about indulging, I just did. I jiggered things so I could do little else that year (maternity leave?) than be with him and his brothers.
He’s not without complexity, but he is like the kind of dog you’d most want by your side, loyal and true. His very close friend has been in the hospital (mending!) and it’s been worrisome and he’s visited and been the kind of friend you’d most want by your side. He brought cheer when cheer was needed. What’s more every day the first question he poses in the morning and when he gets home is about how his friend is doing. So, he pretty much won my awe this week, along with everything else.
There’s more to say, about him—about learning the ropes, about the odd sticky, slick nature of time—but I won’t. Instead, I’ll enjoy the sight of him eating cinnamon raisin toast.
