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Jul 30


My monster boy… you are my little love bug. The first boy on your dad’s side, the one to carry on the name. You are named for my grandfather and your daddy’s great grandfather – that’s a lot of history to give to one little boy, but you seem to equipped to handle it. From the very beginning, you have awed me with your passion and your drive. You seemed to have been born with separation anxiety, you knew exactly who I was and that my rightful place was holding you. You are my communicator, so stable and consistent, and always easy to console, once you feel as though you have expressed yourself. Your first word was “dis.” Not Mama, not Dada, but “this.” Looking back, I can see how well that suits you – because you have a such a strong sense of wanting to communicate with people. And “dis” allowed you to show us exactly what you were thinking or doing.

You are all rough and tumble boy, I can’t even count the number of black eyes, bumps, and bruises you’ve had. You learned to climb long before you could walk, and loved nothing more than “jumping.” I remember telling your dad that I wanted to get you a helmet and knee pads to go thru toddlerhood, because I was convinced you were trying to kill yourself. You’d pull yourself up, fall, and do it all over again. You were a colic-y little baby, with wretched reflux and there was more tears and crying during your babyhood (on both our parts) than there was in Jessica’s. You challenged my identity as a mother, you made me work harder, dig deeper to find what you needed. To be the mother you deserve.

You’re so much more than I expected. You’ve brought such joy into our lives. Not just mine, but your sisters, your dad, your grandparents. You are my heart, all sunshine smiles and clinging arms. You have a fascination with all things rescue related – super heros, fire trucks, army guys. You want so badly to be be big, to be able to do everything your sisters can do, to be able to be just like Daddy, but at the end of the day, you cuddle up in my arms like the toddler you still are. I love you, my Sammy Boy – I’m so incredibly blessed to be your mother.

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