Spencer's 5th

So, yes, it’s true I was shocked to discover I was carrying you in my womb nearly six years ago. It had just been vacated six months prior by your brother and the poor girl needed a rest.

But God had other plans. And once I got over the initial “How did this happen?” (duh) and “How will I take care of three babies ages three and under?” I was able to embrace the plan of the sweetness of you.

I always knew I wanted a third child. I didn’t plan to have you so soon after your brother but then, I’ve lived long enough to know it’s a fool’s move to dispute the plan of God.

And you are a beautiful plan that has brought my mama heart more joy than I ever thought was possible.

Each of you bring me immense joy.  I love you all the same and yet I love you all differently.

But you, Spencey J. You are the one that melts my heart. Yes, the others do as well but you have a special knack.

You’re the baby of the family. They say this happens with your type.

I love you for when you slide your kitchen stool up to the counter and put on your apron to help make brownies. I love you for when you declare, with the utmost of authority, that you should become a “cooker” because you’re so good with making food.

I love you for when you say, “Mama, you’re beautiful (but pronounce is bootyful),” out-of-the-blue on a Tuesday afternoon.

I love you for the intense belly laugh that would be be bright red if it held a color and how it’s contagious melody floats through the air and captures us all so that we, too, are joining in the symphony of giggles.

I love you for your quirky anxiety over food. For the days when we are visiting someone’s home and you ask, “Are those the same carrots we have at our house?”

I love you for your impish grin that always conveys guilt, for your mile high lashes that are your secret weapon, and your chocolate brown eyes that are so deep and dark they appear to be as black as the night sky.

I love you for the potbelly you still possess and the moments when you stick it out and smack your open palms against it’s flesh and invite us all to “look at my belly!”

You, sweet Spencey J, are a charmer. Belly and all.

And in all of your silliness, there is also this little boy with a sensitive heart who can use words to say “That hurts my feelings!” and is the first to ask if I’m OK when I stub my toe.

You’re the one that asked for not one, but two Despicable Me 2 Fart Blasters for your birthday so your brother and you could have Fart Blaster wars. God help us all and God help me for agreeing to it.

You’re the one who quietly asks for a cuddle and some “tickle back” time while watching Peter Rabbit before bed.

You’re the one, my unexpected surprise, that completes this family of five with your carefree spirit and happy-go-lucky nature most of us lack.

Five years ago, you came into this world with a bang. It had been four years to the day since Daddy and I had said “I do” and we like to call you our little anniversary-stealer. And the story of your labor is of sitcom proportions as is.

My life has never been the same since that hot, July day.

And I’m so thankful.

I love you, my goofball Spencey J who warms my heart and teaches me so much about Jesus.






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