I don’t know where the time has gone.
I remember making paper chains, with red and green construction paper, with my sister and our mom, and hanging them on our bedroom walls in December. Sister and I were just little girls, and it always seemed to take so dadgum long for Christmas to arrive, even though our mother assured us that December was one of the fastest months of the year. Whatever. Grownups were strange, and they held stranger theories. Every night, we’d enthusiastically rip a paper link off of our chains and painstakingly count the days that were left until we could open our presents.
Sister and I believed that mean elves added red and green links to our paper chains while we slept, increasing their length every single night.
And then, somehow, I grew up. I got a driver’s license and bought my first pair of Guess? jeans. I went away to college. I learned fifty different ways to cook Ramen noodles and lived off of the 59-, 79-, 99-cent menu at Taco Bell. I fell in love. I had my heart broken. I fell in love again, and I got married. I added barley to a stew that was an epic fail, as we ended up with a solid loaf of barley, full of carrots and hunks of meat. Hubs and I were very mature; we owned our own lawn mower and had a mortgage, and we drank wine and paid our bills on time. Hubs and I had a baby together. Through the miracle of adoption, we had a second baby together.
And now… the time that seemed to go so slowly when I was younger whirls past me so fast, I feel like I’m on a carnival ride with no escape route. Time, it seems, RACES now.
Today our baby is seventeen months old. We just brought him home from the hospital… like… yesterday. But no. It was seventeen entire months ago. He was less than twenty-four hours old, and he barely weighed six pounds. The nine weeks that we waited, from the time we found out about him being a possibility for us, to the day he was born, took an eternity. And now, in the blink of an eye, we’ve put seventeen months behind us.
And, if that isn’t enough, the boy turns thirteen at the end of this week. I can’t even talk about that without needing to sit down in the darkened corner of my closet, where I can have a good Ugly Cry all by myself. So… we’ll talk about Thirteen when it gets here, but I’m in denial about it.
…Thing 2 is officially seventeen months old. He runs and jumps and hops. He dances and climbs and plunges into everything life has to offer, face-first. He fears nothing, except huge, inflatable rides and real pigs that snort at him. He talks nonstop. He throws rocks, he bites, he hollers, and he pulls the kitties’ tales. He gives hugs, he gives kisses, he pats my back when I rock him, and he says “Uff-you,” which means “Love you.” He’s amazing. He takes my breath away.
And I have to share this with you…
A couple of days ago, I was visiting with a gal that I don’t know well. In fact, I barely know her; we’ve only met a couple of times. I ran into her the other day, and she was commenting on HOW ACTIVE! HOW UTTERLY, VERY ACTIVE! Thing 2 is. One thing led to another, and our conversation took a twist, and I found myself telling her that Hubs and I had adopted him.
Her jaw dropped. Literally. I know people say that a lot, in exaggeration, but her mouth truly fell open and she just stared at me. And then she said, “I had no idea! He’s so incredibly cute, I would never, EVER have guessed he was adopted.”
Because what? Only ugly babies are adopted? Hubs and I had a good laugh over it, when I told him later. He wanted to know what I’d told the gal, and I simply said, “She left me speechless, so I just said, ‘Yes… he’s pretty cute, isn’t he?’ And I left it at that.”
Thing 2 has us… and we have him. He’s changed us… he’s worn us out… he’s showed us how to spread more love… he’s made us throw back our heads and laugh uproariously… and we are so thankful for the blessing that is Thing 2. We can no longer imagine our lives without that little thunderbolt, right smack in the middle of us.
Happy seventeen months, Baby. Later this week, Mama will have her meltdown, and we’ll talk about your Bubbie turning thirteen. Mama will probably cry. You’ll have to pat me and say, “Uff-you.”
I can’t believe our little man is almost a full year and a half old. I can’t believe that our bigger man is about to enter the teenage years.
Thing 2 THINKS he’s seventeen months, going on 7th grade, however. He’s always in the middle of the boy and his buddies, doing what they do. And? Do you know what? The boy and his friends INCLUDE that baby in everything they do.
After I picked the boy and Enzo up from 9 holes of golf this afternoon, they came home to attempt an experiment they’d seen on a You Tube video. It involved black paper, matches, tape and toothpicks. They assured me that it was going to be spectacular.
It was an epic fail, and it didn’t work, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying on their part. Those boys decided the You Tube video was a fake.
And… through the entire long process of LIGHT THE PEPPER!! and LIGHT THE TOOTHPICK ON FIRE NOW!!, Thing 2 hung out with him. And… when he couldn’t see what was going on, because he lacks a little height that the 7th graders have to their advantage, they just picked him up to SHOW HIM what was happening on my kitchen counter.
These boys are all amazing, even if they can’t make black pepper glow or explode or turn green, or whatever they’d hoped to achieve.
Y’all have a merry Monday evening.
We’ll be spending it in celebration of Shark Week.
Except not, because sharks kind of freak me out, so I’d rather go read my book while Hubs and the boy debate the existence of the Megladon.