Beanie Weenie

November 5th, 1999.  That's the day our youngest was born.  The day my life would be changed again, going from a mom of one to a mom of two.  I worried that I could not possibly love anyone as much as I loved Ryan.  I was so wrong.

My pregnancy with him was so much easier than with Ryan.  He was also a little smaller when born, thank God!  Ry was 9 lbs 4 oz, Zach, a puny 8 lbs 7 oz.  That was a piece of cake compared.  From the moment he was born though, he made his presence known.  He cried a lot.  He fussed a lot.  He threw major fits.  No one that attended family camp May 2001 will ever let him forget "baba chockit milk!".  Ever.  At his wedding, I guarantee someone will bring it up.  Probably me.  He would cry in the car, almost always.  Ryan would do something to piss him off and he would throw a fit.  The only way to calm him was to rub his foot.  My arms would go numb rubbing that tiny foot just so he'd stop.  Zach would climb his dresser and pull every single thing out of his drawers, tossing them on the floor.  At just over a year he launched himself out of his crib and never returned.  He would destroy cassette tapes while he was supposed to be napping.  He's the reason I had to turn door knobs inside out and lock him in his room from the outside.  That kid was exhausting.  Completely adorable but exhausting.

The day that kid turned 3 was like a switch was flipped and it just stopped.  He had a sense of humor, this new kid.  He became random.  Still is today, which I absolutely love.  I think he gets it from me.  Steve knows he gets it from me.  I will never, ever, for as long as I live, forget the cowboy song he made up and sang to me in the car on the way over to his grandparents house.  I had to pull over to the side of the road to collect myself, the tears of laughter rolling down my face.  I couldn't breathe.  Only my kid would make up a song about cowboys, chocolate chip cookies and jousting. 

He's kind, polite, smart and handsome.  He's stubborn.  Steve swears he gets that from me, too.  I refuse to admit it.  He's persistent. 

He's perfect. 

Happy 13th Birthday my little Bean!  I love you!