Jackerpie

Happy Birthday Sweet Jackson.

A year and a half ago when we were in Buffalo, Sam and Marsi ran the wand across my belly and said the immortal words, "it looks like a boy," I was sure it was a mistake. What would I do with a boy. I was sure we would have all girls. Besides everyone knows that mothers and sons have a sick relationship.

And then you were born. So sweet. So lovey. So sleepy. What was I so worried about? You were such an easy baby. You just went with the flow. Laughing at your sister. Snuggling in the crook of my arm to watch Oprah. Sleeping in your sleeping dad's arms. Boys aren't so bad. What were all these people talking about?

There has been a change recently. I should have known the change had come the first time you banged and screamed at Ella's door to let you in to play. It would have been obvious to some when you crawled from the patio to the master bath and tore through the contents of the vanity, before I realized you were missing. Others would have noticed when you managed to open your sippy cup and dump it all over yourself and your car seat(and to think I was so happy you didn't cry on the car ride). Not me Jack. I don't think it was until you decided to help we with the laundry that I could finally admit to myself what your behavior problem is. You are becoming a boy.

A loud boy who screams with excitement at garbage trucks. A playful boy who laughs hysterically at every animal noise. A lovey boy who waves goodbye to Ella(or is it the school bus) the entire walk home in the morning. This, my love, is exactly what I was afraid of.

I hope and pray that you will grow up to love God, be a great husband, and be as incredible a dad as your dad.

But now, I understand mothers and sons, because the only thing I dread more than you growing into a boy, is that some day you will grow up and be a man.

And women will make fun of a man who's mother still calls him Jackerpie.