Spencer stole my heart when he came barreling into the world 8 years ago, all 9 lbs 11 oz of him, even breaking his collarbone in the urgency to make his debut (I had opted for drugs, yes indeedy). He came out looking like a 2 month old, perfectly plump and round, so I took lots of pictures in the hospital. I swaddled him in the bed and stood above him, shooting down, my north-facing room offering beautiful diffused light. The nurses weren't happy about me standing on the bed, but the photos were well worth it.
Funny, he was my chunkiest baby and now he’s all sinewy and slim. He climbs everything. He scales the doorways in the house, suspending his body 6 feet off the ground by his outstretched arms. He doesn’t like bread, or math. He can shoot baskets for hours. He doesn’t like to read, so at night he sits in bed drawing in his sketch pad. He’s hysterically funny and deadpan, his observations are unique but often true and beyond his years, his homework is sparse with words but illustrated beautifully (even when not part of the assignment). He does not like to wear stripes and he won’t play games he can’t win. I 'get' him.
He reads people well. “Mom, why is your voice all bumpy, are you tired?” or “Did you have a good day?”, he’s the first to say “you look beautiful” on a night out, or “please do not dance on the Ellen show”. For the record he thinks that if my favorite song, 'Falling Slowly' from the movie 'Once', wins best song at the Oscars, that “they should carve worst song ever written” on the back of the statuette. He’s quite honest.
Yesterday was Spencer day. Just him and me, and his fever that prevented him going to school. He let me put in a few hours of work, but once the Tylenol kicked in he was not going to let me be. We downloaded a few 'good' songs to his ipod, ate lunch, talked a lot. Freakishly warm and summerlike, we went outside as he miraculously healed. We went on an excursion, he on his bike me running alongside for some exercise, up to the 7-11 for a treat then continuing on our course. It went like this:
Spencer: Mom, you can go faster if you want.
Mom: um…this is fast.
Spencer: No really, I can keep up if you go faster.
Mom: Dude, this is all I’ve got.
Spencer: Can’t you sprint or something? Dad goes much faster.
Mom: No. *Gasp*
Spencer: Man, no wonder your runs take so long.
He’s not perfect. He used to have these horrific temper tantrums, he introduced his first grade class to the worst cuss word you can imagine (that he learned from his uncle and thankfully has no clue what it means) and he can be mean to his sister (that's in his job description). But somewhere along the way he became this cool little guy who says “I love you more” without fail, every single time I tell him I love him.
It was hard sending him to school today. He tried to stay home but the thermometer wouldn’t budge over 98.6. I got an extra long hug though. I miss him!