This Little Boy, He Turns Three

 

Good things happen in threes. This little face, still chubby, turns three tomorrow. This same smile, a little toothier now, is three years old. This little boy, he turns three. Three times as lovely, three times as cute, three times as 

J can still remember the night before his birth. Remembrance Day had come and gone. She'd been at the hospital -- yes, doctor, he's still in there -- and she'd paced the spacious mall-ways, killing time, squinting at  the pre-Christmas tinsled glare, wondering when and where and how long it would be before this little someone made his/her presence known. Two weeks overdue and time had all but stopped. Time was endless and all encompassing. Time was this belly, this breath, this unborn babe. And then, in the dark of the sleep-torn night, he stirred. Everyone was wakened. E was bundled up and out of bed, mumbling of deep-sea dreams, and the whole Rioux famille piled into the van. One stop at the grandparents to drop off the soon-to-be big brother, and on to the hospital. 

J sang the song her midwife's daughter had taught her: I am an open bamboo, open up and let my babe come through. She sang as they sped along the bare highway, mouthed the words as they pulled into the parking lot, heard the echo in her head as they waltzed in the corridor, the midwife waiting for the right moment to make her presence known. And then, in a matter of hours and no small effort he was there; M had arrived.  

And here we are, three years later. Our littlest is no longer so little. He goes to preschool, twice a week. He is the prince in his ballet class. He knows the Teenaged-Mutant-Ninja Turtles by name. He requests readings from his favourite collection by Dennis Lee: Alligator Pie, Alligator Pie, If I don't get some, I think I'm gonna die...

Happy Birthday, three times over, to the baby we welcomed, the boy we love and hold, here and now, and the wonderful person we see growing each day. 

xoxoxo