Two years ago tonight I went to bed pregnant, 16 days overdue and not in labor. About seven hours later, I was holding this guy.
I like to remember the days that we first met each of them, the days that we marveled at how much they just looked like the name we'd chosen months earlier, the days I spent inhaling the intoxicating scent of their newborn heads.
It helps to remember them as babies when they're in the throes of toddlerhood. On those days when they hurl themselves about like drunken billy goats and shriek like hyenas, I can remember how sweet it was to read a book with a two-day old asleep on my chest.
He was our surprise baby; from getting pregnant with him to his gender to his size. Fiona was 6 months old when I got pregnant with Owen, who we didn't know would be an Owen. He was three full pounds larger than his older brother was at birth. Even now, he's enormous. People frequently ask me if my kids are triplets.
Two years later, he's a happy, animated, very large kid.
And dirty. Constantly dirty.
Owen has a sense of humor at the tender age of two. A few nights ago, he was looking for his shoes. He put a basket over his head and said, "Not in here." His current hobbies include pushing around cars and his siblings as well as running full speed into walls, people and the dog. Essentially, he enjoys tackling us whenever he can.
And I'm happy to report that he is finally sleeping through the night, though he's not quite done nursing. In fact, yesterday he punched me in the chin when I refused to nurse him. This is going to be interesting.
Happy birthday, Owen!!