Baby Son, Third Boy, thirteen years ago you met me in the delivery room looking confused and slightly disappointed to have been disturbed.
I was able to really savor you, my last baby, every now and then, even though I had two young boys at home who wanted to share in the care and loving of you.
You cried alot, and sometimes I knew why.
Often, I did not - much to my dismay.
Much to the dismay of anyone nearby!
You may have been a fussy babe, but you turned into
the sunniest, bouncing toddler. So often, even now, I find your hands reaching out to help, your arms extended to gather me up in a generous hug.
Baby Son, Third Boy - I didn't think you would change into a Man-Child so soon. But there you are, and it's plain to anyone who might hear your voice ringing out in the kitchen as you call out, "What's for dinner tonight?"
It's not your final man voice - I know that since your brothers have already grown into theirs. Your in between voice has an electric tone, with a slightly higher vibration than it will finally mellow into.
And it won't be long, Baby Son, Third Boy --- it won't be long at all.