My baby boy is 3. It seems just like yesterday when we met him for the very first time.
I remember stroking his chubby little cheek while Jeremy held him during my C-section.
I remember changing all his cute little outfits just because I had nothing else better to do.
I remember fumbling with diapers and nursing and a circumcision, and spit up, asking God to give me wisdom on how to take care of him.
I remember staring at him and just being amazed that you could love someone so deeply that you just met.
He's getting bigger and growing up and I just want it to slow down. But then again, I don't. I want to keep enjoying him enjoying life and all of God's blessings. I want to see the boy and one day man that God has planned him to be.
His hand feels so big wrapped in mine.
He speaks in these complete sentences, that keep me in stitches.
He gets so excited about what he's going to say that he can't find the words fast enough.
He is bruised up and down his legs from just being a boy, always jumping and climbing, and falling.
He never goes anywhere without his sunglasses and eats a bee-nana almost every day.
He started peddling a bike about a month ago, and he speeds around like he's been doing it his whole little life.
He loves Max and Ruby and The Wonder Pets.
He loves his little brother.
He loves singing "On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinky sounds!"
He is shy and and a ham-bone all rolled into one. He's a little bit of both of us.
He has a kind heart and a stubborn streak and I know God will use both.
He is my Wook, underwear on head and all.