On the eve...

So on the eve of my son’s first birthday, I’d like to tell you all how much my son rocks. I could of course start reminiscing of what was happening to my nether regions a mere year ago. I could also tell you that on the eve of my son’s first birthday he decided to cut a couple more teeth so he’s been up crying in pain every few hours. But no, I think that on the eve of my son’s first birthday, I rather tell you how much my son rocks. Like K.I.S.S. style rocks.

The one story I’ve been meaning to tell you all about happened about three weeks ago when we were at one of our weekly playgroup sessions. At this particular session, there is a guitar playing woman singing songs. After the song singing, they bring out a little table where they serve water in sippy cups and offer up some fruit. My son, being of my loins, is usually one of the first kids standing at the little table reaching for something to shove in his gob. He’s usually the last one at the table as well, but that’s neither here nor there.

I might have mentioned that Henry is a bit small for his age. I’ve yet to encounter any kid near his age who is around his size. Even so, it’s really starting to irritate me when mothers tell their kids (most of whom are only a few weeks or months older than Henry) to mind “the baby”. While he might not be walking yet, he has taken the pre-Olympics Baby Gold for crawling (taking the gold for Great Britain and the United States)(yes, it’s possible) and he pulls himself up on EVERYTHING and I’ve seen him stand solo when he’s not paying attention and he says “mama” and “yeah” (our proper English in this house is appalling) and he likes potato chips over everything else in the world and DAMMIT, HE’S NOT A FUCKING BABY. Regardless of this, I’m certainly not worried that my son is wearing clothes for 12 months being that he’s 12 months and not size 3T.

ANYHOW, so at this particular playgroup session, the baby refreshment table comes out and as usual Henry is one of the first kids standing there waiting to be “refreshed”. It happened to be a busy session that day and because the session is for 6 months to 5 years age range, there were a lot of older kids also at the table. Immediately the older kids – kids that stand a good head and a half above Henry – started pushing him out of the way. My little boy held his ground until two older boys ganged up on him. They pushed him and shouted in his face and eventually Henry freaked out and started to cry.

At that point I came over. As a general parenting rule, I try my best to keep my distance (but ever watching) so that Henry can learn to take care of himself. I intervene when Henry is being rude (stealing toys from kids is his personal forte) or when Henry obviously is overwhelmed. This was one of those times. I picked him up and he did a very short sob in my arms. I reassured them that those kids were being mean. He looked at me then looked at them and then he motioned to be put down. If it had been me – if it had been me at 37 years old no less – I would have said “fuck this” and left. Not my brave boy Henry. Two older boys a head and a half taller than him that were still at the table– he just went right back to hold his place, older boys be damned.

Right before the pushing began.

And after the whole thing was over.  The kid eating on the left hand side of the picture was one of the assailants.

I’ve always loved my child. I’ve always thought he was cute and smart and just generally awesome. That day though, I was proud. I was so damn proud of my son that my chest swelled. I think about that, on the eve of his first birthday, about how I hope that he will always be like that. I hope that this little boy who is friendly and funny (a comedian and a flirt) will know how to pick himself up and stand his ground when the odds are stacked against him.

I love you peanut. Happy Eve of your 1st Birthday.