I know all you're seeing is a baby wrapped in a pink blanket, but that is, in fact, Boy-- my boy--barely six hours old, five years ago today.
I must admit, his father and I were somewhat disheartened at what an odd looking duck he was during the first few months of his life. Ah, but did he ever flesh out nicely over the years!
And such a sweet, gentle little soul! A genuine pleasure to be around. You know...when he's not whining about Elder Miss touching him, or Missy breathing on him...
He can be a finicky, prickly little thing, but for some reason, seeing pictures of him as a baby--more so than seeing pictures of the girls, or even more than holding a real live flesh and blood baby--makes my ovaries tick, my boobs twitch, my arms itch for another one. Mostly I avoid the file marked "Boy" like the plague, but on this night of nights, I just couldn't help myself.
I never wanted a son. When I found out I was carrying one I was sullen, and disappointed, and not just a little apprehensive about the prospect of having to bond with such an alien creature.
How silly was I? His puppy-like buoyancy, his easy enthusiasm, and his screwy circuitous logic--foreign as they all are--feed me.
His Fairy Godmother, La Dragon, gave him a book for his baptism. It's kind of a sappy, hippy-dippy, this-is-your-planet-now-respect-it-in-all-its-infinite-majesty little elegy called "On the Day You Were Born" by Debra Frasier. From the very beginning, and still to this day, I have a hard time reading the last page without getting all teary-eyed and choked up. Please forgive my trite, hackneyed sentimentality as I share them with you:
"Welcome to the spinning world," the people sang,
as they washed your new, tiny hands.
"Welcome to the green Earth, " the people sang,
as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.
And as they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear,
"We are so glad you've come!"