Birthdays, Then (and Then) and Now

Will played with balloons on his first birthday, all by himself.

He toddled through our old kitchen,

then disappeared around the corner.

He blew out a solitary candle on his tiny carrot cake.

His little brother was still waiting in the wings in my belly.

For his second birthday, Will got a Cookie Monster cake--

a little bigger, this year (the boy and the dessert).

This time, he extinguished the candle all by himself.

He still spent some time alone with his balloons...

...but he was going to have to learn how to share soon enough.

This year, Will blew out the candle with too much gusto
(while I took this picture, Dave was shouting "MOVE BACK, BUBBA!")

And oh my goodness, does the kid ever have to share:

his spotlight, his balloons, his MILK even!

Funny enough, he didn't seem to mind.

And this year, as Will disappeared around the corner with his balloons,

he was chasing his little brother.

I think he'd say this birthday was his best yet.

Happy Seventeen Months, Finnster!

Finn at seventeen months:

And in static form:

Well, that's about as static as Finn ever gets.

Here's Will at the same age (either heading into or recovering from a bout of bronchitis, I can't remember):

Dude, what were we FEEDING that kid? Whey protein powder supplements? 

He's a HORSE!

I'll have to dig up that Celtics jersey and put it on Finn for comparison's sake. 

And...yeah, I admit it, they do look a lot alike when I see them at the same age. (Give or take TWENTY POUNDS, holy moley!)

Fast Like a Christmas Tree

I found this while I was downloading videos off our Flip, and I had to post it here. It's a video of Will and Uncle Kai from our Christmas in New Jersey, and it basically illustrates why it's so tough to leave after a week of this, all the time:

Flashback to August

Grandmom and Grandpop paid a visit last weekend, which meant a few things:

1. Will clung to one of Grandpop's hands at all times.
2. We got to eat some decadent dessert, courtesy of their hotel restaurant.
3. I finally got my hands on an enormous set of pictures from our Jersey Shore vacation.

(I'm wondering if "Jersey Shore" will ever be an innocuous phrase, ever again?)

There are a lot of people who take a lot of pictures in our immediate family on the Noon side, so please believe me when I tell you that I practiced restraint in choosing "only" these photos to post:

 The first thing Will said every morning was "Go see cousins!"

 I think you can see why.

 He has so much fun with this gang.

 The shirt says it all.

 "Jenna pick Will up!" was also a common refrain.

 Finn snoozed on Auntie Cindy at the beach...

 ...while the rest of us played.

 Finn loved the beach, but he was frustrated with us for not letting him eat the sand.

 The family shot.

 The four of us.

 Celebrating Will's birthday early--do you think he liked that plan?

 Dolphins!

 A sunrise documented by Grandpop...

while I slept soundly inside.

(I had to take advantage of Finn's wonderful nights of sleep, didn't I?)

The Boston Noons head back home.

I don't have a lot of pictures of Finn sans pacifier, but it was shortly after that trip that we decided to wean him off it. And then we decided that we really preferred full nights of sleep to a frustrated, vocal baby who missed his pacifier, so now he gets it once in a while--about as often as we get to sleep through the night.

These pictures make me miss the beach, the summer (even the humidity), and mostly our faraway family. Hopefully Christmas will be here before we know it.

2T

Here's what I feel like saying to the universe on the eve of Will's second birthday:

ENOUGH.

No more growing up for me, thanks. My rational brain tells me there's so much to look forward to--just like it did when I hit thirty. And it's RIGHT; I'm already loving my thirty-first year and all the benefits reaped from my birthday promise to be truer to myself. I just don't know why wisdom has to come with the passage of time. Someone should get on that, stat.

My wistfulness about my own birthday has turned into outright moping as Will's draws nigh. How on earth did we get here? Yes, I remember: we went through the caverns of breastfeeding failure to arrive in the meadow of twelve-hour nightsleeping, trekked through the Mobile Baby forest and hooked a left at the brook of babble--and then maybe we took an express train all the way to Two, because it seems like I was just dreaming about preschool selection and Big Brother tee-shirts--I woke up and it was time to say goodbye to my one-year-old.

How do I avoid turning this into an indulgence of my melancholy? Oh, I don't think I can. Just as 30 was the first number that truly felt wrong on me, so I feel about William and that hulking numeral, 2. I used to think:

When he's two, he can take classes at the aquarium, ride a tricycle even!

But today I held him and my grip kept slipping--literally, I mean--and this baby who grew out of 2T clothes nearly a year ago didn't feel at all like a baby, and my stomach rolled sideways as I thought, "He'll never be smaller than he is right now." As big as he feels, as unwieldy he is balancing on my hip or hurling his arms over my shoulders, that's as COMPACT as he'll ever be. I feel like I've just discovered time, and I hate it fiercely for marching on, for altering my boy.

I know I should be thankful; I hope tomorrow I'll wake up with a sunnier take on this birthday business, happy that Will is healthy, that he kisses me, requests me, loves me.

But tonight I sulk instead. I want him here, this size, always as he is right now, perfect. Enough.

31 Years Ago Today

This guy was born. And although my own earthly debut was still two years away, somewhere in the pre-born universe, I'm sure I must have been smiling.

Maybe I should thank Dave for marrying me, but I sort of have a suspicion he did it as much for himself as for me. So instead, I'll thank his parents for raising Dave to be my favorite (grown-up) guy in the world.

And I WILL thank Dave for passing on his good-natured genes to this little boy:

And hopefully this one, too:

The Yearling

I started to write this post the night before Will's first birthday. He spent the weekend walking--nay, run-toddling--around his grandparents' spacious New Jersey living room, reveling in the company of his cousins, and getting too excited to take real naps. That last one resulted in some overtired whining, but also some really hilarious babbling (hopefully that video upload will work someday soon and you can witness the babbling firsthand), so all is forgiven.

One year ago, I was at the hospital after spending a day of early laboring at home. I had treated myself to a McDonald's milkshake, walked around the block and up and down the hallway countless times, and watched a lot of The Wire, Season 2. (There's a reason I don't remember much about those early episodes set on the Baltimore docks--I kept leaving the room to pace or bounce on my exercise ball.)

At this time last September 27, at 9:30 p.m., I was putting off the epidural so I could stay upright a little longer in my deee-luxe delivery room. I didn't know what Will looked like. I didn't know what it felt like to hold him, somebody I had created, in my arms and on my chest. I didn't have the capacity to imagine the 8 pounds and 6 ounces that were about to enter the world, and I certainly couldn't picture this walking, talking, kissing, laughing, joke-cracking behemoth of a one-year-old who so obviously sees his entire life as one big glass half full.

I've never survived a steeper learning curve or missed someone so much when he was only inches from me; never has one year gone by so fast while altering the order of things in so many fell swoops.

And here we are, those cliched parents with the cliched emotions (well, they feel new to us), whispering to each other over warm autumn bedcovers:

How is it that we love him more now than we did last month--last week--yesterday?

C'mon, let's look at him on the monitor one last time before turning out the lights.

Oh, God, he's cute. Look at how cute the little bubba is.

Thanks for being born, baby boy. Happy birthday.

Family Resemblance

Dave and I still can't see much of ourselves in Will, physically speaking.

Clearly he gets his hyperactivity from me:

His obsession with taking everything apart and inspecting it (in this case, a lens cap) from Dave:

His goofball sense of humor can be blamed on both of us:

But the physical resemblance that most people point out to us?

Good old Grandpa Joe:

When we put this hat on Will's head at the store, it instantly reminded us of my wonderful grandfather, and even Dave swore we had to take it home:

He would have been so tickled to meet his little doppelganger, the boy who inherited his gray eyes and prominent ears and happy-go-lucky nature--but I have to remind myself that this is how it's supposed to be, that the great-grandfather lives on in the great-grandson.

I'm sure Grandpa Joe was ready, after 99 1/2 years on earth, to pass down his signature look.

I just wish he were here to see it in person.