number nine.

today, my big boy turns #9.

he is my sunshine boy.

my parenting respite from the teen
drama & trauma that is his big sister.

a breath of fresh tousled-hair air
just as i find i've lost my breath in exasperation.

& i worry.
i worry about how much environmental stress he feels.
i worry about how much pressure he feels to be the happy child.
i worry that he, too, is holding in rage that will spew & spill
like vesuvius, coating us all with paralyzing ash,
once he discovers a voice for it.

but then i see him skipping off to recess,
arm-in-arm with a new friend.
i watch him put on a huge, goofball, dance number
first thing in the morning to my ipod mix,
between cheesy eggs & hair-brushing.
i listen to his sing-song playing, hour upon hour.

& he seems occasionally stressed, but not often.
& he seems naturally happy, not put-upon happy.
& if he's inwardly rageful, then i guess
there's not much to be done about it
until the volcano blows.

i smell his sweet neck & i feel his arms around my neck
& i hear him concur:
i'm not sure i'm ready for nine, he murmurs. i've enjoyed eight.
he understands more is expected of those to whom more years have been given,
& he'd rather keep it simple & so, so sweet.

me, too, baboo. me, too.
let's just savor nine while we've got it.


image source: him as hercule poirot, christmastime 2011.