I Just Love You

My baby is turning 4 in few days. I am officially one of those middle aged people who wanders around muttering where did the time go?

Even as an infant, Finn was one laid-back kid. He loves to laugh, and has a smile peeking out nearly constantly. His favorite thing to say to me is "It's gonna be okay, Momma. I pwomise." He is a snuggler; he'll climb into my lap, saying "You da best Momma in da wohld." He got his impish humor from his Dad; he has appreciated a good practical joke since he was two.

I love his fierce convictions; he likes to ask question after question, listen intently to the answer and say, "No, that's wong." When he is upset, which isn't often, he furrows his brow and says, calmly, "See? Now you hurt my feewings."

The other day he was pushing limits and I finally sent him to his room. He planted his feet, put his hands on his hips and said matter-of-factly, "I gonna go cry now. I tell you when I done."

I remember the sense of excitement and anxiousness I felt before he was born. Greta was a colicky baby, cried a lot for the first four or five months, and had trouble sleeping. Add to this mix the fact that I was a brand-new mother, finding my way little by little, and her early months were tough.

I feared the worst, wondering how I would handle another colicky baby with a 3 year old in tow. His delivery was frightening, an emergency c-section after the monitor showed his heartbeat had nearly stopped; it turned out the umbilical cord had wrapped twice around his body, and then once around his neck. After his delivery, there were a few terrifying moments of silence, and then a loud, gusty cry and a huge sigh of relief.

I learn a lot from my littlest: how to roll with the punches, laugh just for the heck of it, how to put things in perspective and live for the moment. He barrels headlong through life, setting things in motion just to see what happens. He is like a mad scientist performing experiments: mixing things together, taking things apart. No matter what the outcome is of his little adventures, he invariably says, "well, that was un-spected!"

Best of all, Finn loves to love. He'll remark on the beauty of the world; two days ago we had a gorgeous sunset. He stood in the backyard with his head tipped back, saying, "Wow, the sky is so bootiful. I love da sky." He is gentle with our pets, hates to see any creature suffer. Zooming through the house, he'll run by his sister and say, "Hey Sissy! Love you!"

Finn looked at me yesterday and said, "Momma? I don't want to be four."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I always want to live with you and Dadda. I don't want to grow up and get ahmpit hair."

His little face was dead serious, so I stifled a laugh. "You can live with us for as long as you want, it's okay," I said.

"But do I hafta get ahmpit hair?" he sniffed.

"Not if you don't want to," I lied, hoping he'll forget this conversation by the time he's older.

"I just love you, Momma," he said.

"I just love you too, Finn."