This boy, who still makes my heart and stomach tie knots around each other when he throws up. Is it a virus? Does he need IV fluids? Is it finally the onset of low cortisol from hypopituitarism?
This boy, who now can almost go up or down a curb with his walker by himself–he just needs one adult hand's worth of stabilization and push, and a few words of guidance.
This boy, who I wake thinking about in the night through IEP season.
This boy, who comes along to the store to pick out Christmas tree ornaments in this first year we have had a tree. Who asks to get out of the cart so he can help. Who, when I turn back around, has removed at least seven boxes of the shiny glass balls from the shelf and is surveying and arranging them on the floor.
"John, maybe we can keep just three choices on the floor at once, because I want us to be careful with these glass balls."
"Okay." He puts one box down and picks up another. "Well, I'm Just Offering!"
(I melt a little and taste the bright, lemony taste of maturity and cuteness mixed together.)
"Oh. Um, thank you for offering these choices."
This boy, who one year ago amazed me by singing "The Christmas Song" when he had only been talking for a year, who now sings in excellent pitch and rhythm (for a five-year-old), improvises lyrics, and learns new songs quickly. Who demonstrated this last week when we were driving. From the back seat came his sweet little voice in a new Christmas carol:
"Weee...Wish you a merry fartmas, we wish you a merry fartmas, we wish you a merry fartmas, from the bottom of our butt!"
Horrified, I tried not to laugh, and when that failed, tried not to laugh audibly.
This boy, who sometimes is not paying attention, and sometimes is paying attention when I least expect it. On the way to Thanksgiving dinner I told Sister, "I think there's something wrong with that cheesecake we made. It's kind of too bitter. I don't know if I like it."
With impeccable timing, John contributed, "Aw, mom, you'll like it when you're older!"