Yesterday was Atticus' birthday. I didn't have an opportunity to blog -- see the next post for that one.
He turned 14. He is my child that I think will either be a pediatrician or an attorney. An attorney because he is always the one to cry "unfair" and to stand up for what he believes fiercely to be right.
A pediatrician because he absolutely loves kids and babies and he's so good with them! He just loves on Blondie all the time, holds any clients babies that come through the door and daily snuggles up to me on the sofa, rubs my belly, and says "I can't wait for the baby to come!"
He's a sensitive boy who wears his heart on his sleeve. He's a rockin' guitarist. He's an excellent cook. He's a lover, not a fighter.
When he was born, as my second baby, I knew nothing about birth still. I had about 20 hours of prodromal labor with him that I was convinced was "LABOR" so I didn't eat or sleep, basically did everything "wrong" and was so exhausted when he finally came after about 5 hours of real labor. I wanted him to be a girl so badly that I had trouble bonding with him at first, even though I knew the whole time he was a boy. I still feel guilty about that. He was an easy, easy baby. Now, he's not quite so easy, what with the testosterone surges and all. But at the end of the day, he is still a very sweet boy and I am so glad he was a boy, because all these other girls followed after him and without Atticus, Spielberg wouldn't have anyone to identify with.
When I think this new baby might be a boy, it's weird to imagine. My sons now are taller than me and need to shave. I hear them walking in the house or talking in the house, and think there's a man in the house somewhere. There is, but it's just a future glimmer of one, and I think he'll be a great one.