the ultrasound and the tech said, "Oh, that's a boy allright" and I panicked. What was I going to do with a boy? Was this boy going to feel left out because I love shopping and cooking and laughing with my girl, my sweetie poo, my Stella? Was I going to be able to love a boy the way I loved my little girl? What does a little boy need? What kind of mommy would this guy need to thrive, to straddle those thin gray lines between wimp, gentleman and thug?
While filling out paperwork at work, I remember the head of HR congratulating me on my impending motherhood of a boy. She has a girl and a boy too (hers are both grown), and she imparted some wisdom that I never forgot: "Oh, there's that mother-daughter relationship that nobody can penetrate. But you're going to be knocked over by your boy. There's a special kind of love a mother has for her boy, and he's going to bring you a different kind of love you'll always treasure."
The minute I saw him in the hospital I knew she was right. I knew instantly he was an old soul, and the telepathy that mother and baby have (because its not like we'd have even differentiation of cries for at least a few months, much less conventional language for a year or so) indicated he had stuff to teach me. Namely finding the boy inside me and loving him for it. It's like I told a friend a couple of weeks ago: "Sammy is basically mini-me with a penis" only to be answered with "But V'ron, you already have a penis!" And so in falling in love with my baby boy (which happened very shortly after noon four years ago) I learned to love myself.
I watch and marvel as Stella gracefully dances in her ballet slippers, but I can only be amazed that such a thing came out of me. With Sammy, on the other hand, I can spar his kung fu with him, I can play linebacker as he barrels over me, we scream monster noises at each other. He's brought out my inner boy in ways I never knew existed. We nicknamed Sammy "little buddy" (and many permutations: "Budski" "Sama-Lama Buddinski") and he's lived up to the Buddy name. He really is my little buddy, temperamental, demonstrative, physical, but with a heart so big I don't know how his body contains it. Out of the clear blue sky he'll walk into the living room and declare "Mommy, I love you!" and then take his dishes to the kitchen. Sometimes he is a massive pain the the butt; yet not once has the question "Is he worth it" ever crossed my mind. He tells me silly little boy jokes, and he amazes me when he gets some remark I make that I thought was over his head. Like Stella, his intelligence floors me, even when it means I can't hide things from him, and as we did with Stella, Brian and I shake our heads in resignation of the difficulty of it all: "Well, at least he's not a stupid child." Every day I see him discover something new, every day he throws his arms around me for a "big squeezy hug," every time he calls me on some adult inconsistency or hypocrisy my heart explodes with gratefulness and joy that this little buddy is in my life. Like the song goes, thank goodness for little boys.
Happy birthday Sam-A-Lama Buddy Buddinski!