An update on Our Mrs. Pat and her journey with breast cancer is HERE.
Thursday is Food(ed) Day. Don’t be late!
This week you complete one trip around the sun. Technically, you are 12 months old… though in a court of law I would be hard pressed to prove any of us lived well during your first 5 months. I don’t remember the Summer of 2010. It is a fog of screaming and puke and frozen dinners. I claim 7 months of Thriving Life.
Your life also started with casts and braces (2 months of casting and 7 months of bracing). That seems like eons ago… with another family with another child. The braces quietly faded out of rotation when you were 9 months old. Your legs did not fall off or re-curve. In fact, it was like you never had a club foot at all. Onward. You wanted to MOVE and had no time in your life for leg braces. I am preparing myself for a lecture from your doctor later this month, so get that winning smile ready. I’m going to need you to smooth things over.
Your poor entry into this world has been more than compensated by the fact that you are now the funnest kid ever. You are Jolly. You are loud. You are a remarkable eater. You have 2.3 teeth and have been eating solid food since 7 months. I was able to nurse you for 11 months, which is YOUR ONLY SAVING GRACE for adding 50 pounds to my frame during pregnancy.
You have just- like, last week JUST– started sleeping through the night as long as we sneak a bottle to you around 10:30pm. Have I mentioned you love to eat? You are an average 24 pounds, which boldy implies I am a liar about the whole eating thing… but I have fed you 2 jelly sandwiches for lunch and I have seen you scream for more.
I’m kind of a lot in love with you, if that’s allowed. While I questioned my ability to raise a boy (knowing so little about boys, myself), you have made me an expert in loving the opposite gender.
You are a champion rookie circus flyer in this house. How you have managed to stay out of the emergency room this long is beyond me. I have found you on couches, at the top of stairs, in dog kennels, and deep inside dishwashers. You looooooove anything long… like brooms, wood stove pokers, rakes, vacuum poles. This does not bode well. For any of us.
Your birth announcement one year ago blew up the blog stats- everyone was so very excited to meet you! Most of the world calls you Gideon… it’s such a fabulous name. I call you Gus Man. Gideon is easier to sing. Gus is easier to type. Your girlfriends Emily and Lauren choose not call you Gus because, as they put it quite honestly, “It sounds like Mustard.” You, with all your names, do not care. You just want to be in on the action, whatever anyone calls you. Gus. Gideon. Di-Gin. Chuck. Cheeser. Gus Man. Handsome.
While I am your favorite, it is obvious that Rylie shares the other 49% of your heart. You look for her. You laugh for her. You play with her. You snuggle with her. You copy her. You love her. It is a beautiful thing to watch, your relationship with your sister. May you always be her biggest fan.
Gideon, thank you for having your own voice. For holding your own amidst hours of doctors appointments, therapy sessions, and marathon car rides. Thank you for that deep giggle followed by a Godfather-esque raspy plee with your hands outstretched to Heaven. Thank you for helping Abe eat his dog food, for playing rough with Dad, and for giving your sister one more thing to love.
You fit perfectly here, Son. We love you so much and cannot wait to see what the next year holds for you. May you attack your second trip around the sun with as much joy, as much energy, and as much ambition as you have your first.
We love you.
Me, most. Always.