I Wish On a Star

My son, my Small Son. Have I told you how special he is? I have written a lot about Little Miss, but not much about Small Son.

This little boy.

I don't even know how to describe him.

People have told me he looks like Macaulay Culkin. He does a little I guess.

He has bright blue eyes, blond blond hair, a little dimple on his right ear lobe. He has a small mole covered up by his hair, and another one on his shoulder. One tiny tiny mole to the right of his belly button. I know his little body so well. I'm sure I could pick him out by his smell alone.

Once upon a time, about 6 years ago, I awoke from a deep sleep, and sat straight up in bed. I woke hubby up, and said, "I'm pregnant, and it's a boy." We were "sorta" trying, but not really.

He said I was crazy, and went back to sleep. Two weeks later I took 7 pregnancy tests of all different kinds one Friday morning before 6AM, and discovered that I was indeed pregnant. I'm not sure I've ever been that happy before. I felt like the heavens had smiled down on me...finally. I was 38, and pregnant. I knew he was a boy, and I knew he was going to be named Small Son. There was no question in my head about this.

I went to school with a boy named Small Son when I was young, and I always loved the name. I've never been sure if I loved the name because it is what I would eventually name my son, or if I named my son that name because of the other boy named Small Son who just embodied what I wanted my son to be. Maybe its a chicken comes before the egg scenario, a question that can never be answered.

This little boy of my heart. He melts me. I adore him. My mom said when I brought him home from the hospital, she never saw anyone hold a baby like I did him. We fit together. He wanted to be held, and I adored holding him. He slept on top of me for months, with me splayed out on our recliner chair, pillows under each arm, and him nestled on my chest. People got after me, and said, "you might drop him." I knew I wouldn't drop him. After he got to big to sleep on me, he slept next to me. I co-slept with him the entire time he was a baby. I loved feeling his warm snugly little body next to me, and I never could find a good reason to not do it.

Everything I read, backed up co-sleeping as a healthy thing, and that it regulated the babys breathing, lessened the risks of SIDS, etc, as long as the parent was not drunk or on drugs which was never the case with me. I nursed him until he was well past 2 years old, and ended up weaning him because I was 6 months pregnant. I feel so sad I never had this nursing relationship with Little Miss, god knows I tried but I couldn't make the milk. My body was worn out.

But with small son, I pumped in the bathroom at work, I nursed him in public, I held my baby. I love him with a fierceness that scares me sometimes. I never imagined the sort of love you have for your own child. It's pure, it is the best love there is.

Small son is so like me in so many ways. He is sensitive like I am. He is a pleaser. He loves making you happy. He is full of mischief. He can laugh until he cries and then come back for more. And, he still climbs into bed with me, nearly every night, and snuggles his warm little boy smelling body up to me, clinging to my arm, and whispering in his sleepy voice that cuddling with me is his favorite thing. Well, it's my favorite thing too.

Tonight I was reading him, "where the wild things are". We both love this book, and then he told me, that the "Pickadoodles" were outside tonight. "Pickadoodles" are something I made up a couple of years ago. The newest version are big, red and hairy. They have red teeth and eyes. They are scary looking, but they are so misunderstood.

I have told him that these particular "Pickadoodles" are completely misunderstood, because although they are so scary looking, they have gentle souls and just want to be loved, but, that they stink. Because they are "skunk chasers".

They stink like skunks.

We have had quit the skunk problem the last few months, and so this was the story that was woven into our own family lore. Pickadoodles are not scary, they are just scary looking.

He loves this story, and will often interrupt me with some detail or another. It's our own private tale, and he loves it as much as I do.

He loves "new" music, which usually means some new song I've started playing. The other day, he said there was a "brown" boy in his class. I asked him what he meant. He said this boy was "brown." That is all it was to him, a color. I explained to him that people come in all different colors, like different colors of coats and hats, but underneath the coat and hat, that we were all the same, that we all wanted to be loved and liked. I think he understood. He is an old soul.

He has had many conversations with me about how some child was mean to another child, and how that the child had hurt feelings and he was going to be his friend. My Small Son draws people to him. I am not sure what the future holds for him, but I'm sure he has some compassionate task he will accomplish.

So, Small Son, like Little Miss, came into this world too early, but I think it was because he wanted to get to mommy a little sooner, and I'm not complaining.

Peace,

OC