When I first got him, he was a chubby eight-month-old. He had curly thick hair and an eye that sometimes drifted to the left.
I remember the first time he clapped. He was able to crawl and to sit himself up, and he was laughing at some pokey game we were playing and he started clapping.
One day my mom was lounging on the floor reading a book and he crawled over and kissed her, in that open-mouthed way that babies do, on the nose.
At one, he got sick and we spent 2 days in the hospital. His arm was in a splint to protect the IV. He hated being in that crib that strongly resembled a cage. My heart ached for him.
When he was two-and-a-half, he had a rough night and as I lay in bed with him laying across me, I heard his little voice “Mom, hold my back.” I laid my hand on his back and he went to sleep.
At three-and-a-half, he calmly explained to me that he’d use the potty when he was four and then demonstrated that he was perfectly capable of changing his own diapers.
He started taking care of me when he was four. I get terrible migraines and every day he climbed up on the kitchen stool to check my head for headaches.
At five he started cleaning snow off of the car for me and suggesting that he could carry the groceries and that I was doing “too much things” so I was tired all the time.
When he was almost eight, we started playing Wizard 101 together. We would duel sometimes and I always won. Eventually, he leveled up past me. We didn’t duel anymore because we were both sure he’d win.
At twelve, he challenged me about my diet because I was eating against doctor’s orders. “I thought we were gonna be serious about this,” he said. I’d never been so proud of him or ashamed of myself.
I looked at him last week, sitting at the dining room table doing homework. I was awestruck that his feet touched the floor. His voice has bass like rumbling thunder. He still asks what my doctors say, and he still cleans the snow off the car.
My little hero will be eighteen in three days. We still play Wizard 101. He still says “I love you, Mom,” and still needs hugs daily. I am forever grateful that I am blessed to have this incredible young man in my life.
I love you, Mousey Man.
