Jasper.
You are now 9 months, which- as everyone knows- is exactly halfway to 31 years old. Soon you will vote, drive, and shave.
Which would be the total reverse if you were an anxious girl of the Armenian persuasion like your mother. (Ba-dum-ching.)
But while I have you living in my home for a teensy bit longer, I’d like to lay out the things about you which never fail to make me smile. (And, let’s be honest, I owe the internet a little bit more positive posting and a bit less eyeball-clawing angst, yes? Yes.)
So. Jasper.
You smile- at us, at your sisters, at the cats- like everything in the universe is aligning to make this THE BEST MORNING ANYONE HAS EVER KNOWN, SWEET GOD ARE THOSE EGGS?! Eye contact makes you the happiest. And thankfully, playing with your toys while you wait for us to return and have eye contact also makes you the happiest.
Nutter-butter.
The way you stand and teeter like a proud drunk kind of bursts my heart. And when you attempt a wave and face-plant into your blocks and repeat the process three more times (giggling, because- who keeps putting these blocks here?), my heart repairs and bursts and continues for as long as you do.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat quite like you, pal. This is good because, as everyone within a three-room radius of you can attest, you enjoy double-fisting your food while grunting and flailing and ecstatically gesturing for “more” and “all done” and what I’m fairly sure is the sign for “dog.” I’d say I’ve always wanted someone to appreciate my cooking the way that you do, but I’ve gotta be honest: that sort of emoting in a grown man would probably terrify me. Listen, I’m just giving it to you straight. I’m your mother.
And when you snuggle against me in those fleeting moments of still-babyhood softness (ramming up in direct contrast to the rest of your imminent-boyhood rough n’ tumblitude), I’m so full of peace, of gratitude, and of joy for the millions of years we have together in my mind.
These are the things that make me smile.
And even when things aren’t so sunshiny around here and I forget how to put one foot in front of the other, and even if the sky falls tomorrow (and our homeowner’s insurance fails to cover it), nothing will ever change one cold, hard fact: at this moment in time, in this year and month, in this city and on the face of this planet…I am your Mom and you’re my only son.
So we must be some kind of blessed, yeah?
Love you,
Mom
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