Thinking about Andrew...

Some days as I look at Andrew, I think through the last 18 months of having him around and I shake my head in gratitude.

I think about my pregnancy with him and how he came early and fast and ready for the party.  I think about how easy he was and how much he loved {still loves} to eat.  I think about his tiny baby smiles and how easily he laughed.  I think about the joy that overwhelmed me as I held him close.  I think about how he has picked up on things so quickly and does them easily.  He rarely gets frustrated that he can't do something, only that he can't do it fast enough.

He is so much more curious than B was at this age.
He is such a risk taker.
He has more gumption and guts than any child I know.
He's gregarious and gorgeous. {I'll be done with good "g" words now...}
He has these big blue eyes that make your heart melt.
And a killer grin to go with them.

And I wonder, "How did I get this boy? How did I get so lucky? How do I get the blessing of caring for this one?"  The one who keeps me on my toes and makes me laugh and gives kisses more freely than anyone else in our home.

He has the advantage of being number two, in so many ways.  I didn't mind getting up with him in the middle of the night. I fed him how often he wanted to eat, not what a schedule said.  I followed him more and forced him less. I snuggled him longer and enjoyed him more.  I wore {er, wear} him more frequently.  I didn't get as easily frustrated or overwhelmed or crazy.  He eats dirt and sticks and falls down without a fuss.  It's just that -- coming second means that you were born into experience.  {Not that he hasn't caused enough new experience of his own!}

{But hear me now: no child can prepare you for the next in any fullness at all.}

He's a handful, though.  I should have known by the constant movement in my womb and the scare of having heart trouble while he kicked away inside of me.  I should have known when he started moving way earlier than I expected and then wouldn't eat baby food anymore.  I should have know when he stopped letting me feed him so he could feed himself.  I should have known when he started walking before 11 months, and then started running the very next week.

He doesn't stop.  He is always going and always trying.  He figures things out and then tackles something else.  He runs away fast when he steals a toy and walks over shyly to give a sweet kiss.  Even now, I'm smiling and shaking my head.  I've just so clueless how to handle this boy and I cannot fathom what he will be like as he gets older.  I fear that, quite possibly, it's me.  Lord willing, he will have more Patrick in him than me!

It's just -- these boys -- they have stolen my heart!  And I'm the only one who gets the best and worst of them day in and day out {and Patrick, of course}.

I love that my boys are so different.  I love that God knew what I needed in my first born and then my second.  I love that motherhood has changed me in ways I never thought possible! I love that every day, every minute, I get to be the momma of Benjamin and Andrew.  The fact that God has trusted me with these little miracles are beyond my belief and I couldn't be more humbled and grateful.