And I reel.
Though trite for us mom’s to say, it seems as though it were just last week that I was feeling you move inside of me, watching you kick the remote controls off of my very large abdomen and dreaming of what you would look like, sound like, and just be like.
You’ve been here four years now – and you’ve far exceeded the dreams I possessed regarding the you-ness of you.
I had no idea how much you would steal my heart and run with it with those almost-black eyes, the mile-long lashes, and the dimples even the nurses commented upon when you were just hours old.
Your daddy has them, too. And me? I’m a sucker for ’em. Those little indentations work well for both of you.
The energy within your little being is baffling to me. You bubble over with it and I, your somewhat-always-weary-mama admits to some exasperation over this fact. How can it be almost 7:30 p.m. and you’re still on full-speed?
You jump up and down quickly and often because really, it’s just too much. You have to do SOMETHING with it and I giggle as I watch that unstoppable energy brim over each day.
During the past four years, I’ve come to grips with the fact that I will never be a step ahead of you. Like the Tasmanian Devil, you bounce around our home and leave a trail of joy with your melodic giggles and hatch plans even the most seasoned of mothers would find amusing – and yes, mostly alongside your younger brother.
“Boys,” women say to me who have their own at home. It’s a declarative statement.
We exchange knowing glances with an unspoken understanding that we both deal with skid-marks in the underpants and mandatory baths every night.
And though I admit to some trepidation when I learned you were indeed male because really, I had no idea what to DO with a little boy, I now can’t imagine life without those skid-marks and mandatory baths.
As I watch you move from babyhood to little-boy-land, I want you to know that I pray for you with an intentionality so fierce I surprise even myself.
I pray foremost that you will choose to follow Jesus. That you will be man of integrity, honor, and courage. That you will admit when you’re wrong, as hard as this is, and take responsibility for your actions. That you will know what to do when you mess up because, dear one, you will.
It’s promised to us all.
I pray that you will be a compassionate husband who understands the heart of a woman. That you will lead a family someday to Him.
So much I desire for you, angel boy.
Last night after finishing our story, we laid in bed and talked a bit.
“Mama, listen to this song I’m learning in music class” you said and proceeded to sing a few lines with an incorrect melody.
I began to piece together the song.
I see trees of green.
Red roses too.
I see ’em bloom, for me and you.
“Samuel, I know that song, buddy!” I shared as we both proceeded to sing it together.
“But wait, mama. Look at this,” you command.
And you continue singing but this time with motions…
The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do
They’re really saying I love you.
With that last line, you point to your chest when you sing “I”, cross your arms over while singing “love” and point at me when singing “you.”
And me, overcome by the power of a four-year-old singing those precious words in an innocent sing-song voice that belongs to a boy that doesn’t yet know that sometimes the world isn’t so wonderful, I weep.
“Those happy tears, mama?” you ask, longing for that confirmation even though I’m smiling as the tears fall.
As I nod yes and hold you close, I marvel. I praise Him. I astound over His grace confirmed through the gift of you.
What a wonderful world. Yes. But really, what a wonderful Creator of the world, my son.
Happy Fourth Birthday, Sammy Jammy. Our family is abundantly blessed by the presence of you and you are loved beyond imagination.