Today, I dressed my Smooch up in his very first real suit. It’s precious – dove gray with subtle, narrow blue and white pinstriping. It’s special – it belonged first to my younger brother, and I have a picture of myself many Easters ago sitting next to a little boy wearing this same little suit. And it makes him look so much older than his two years (until he pops his pacifier in his mouth, but that’s another post for another day).

We got so many compliments as we went about our morning – at church and out to eat for lunch. Almost everyone told Smooch how handsome he looked, how grown up he looked, what a big boy he is now. So I was thinking about this business of mothering a son – no longer just a baby, he really is becoming a little boy; soon a boy and then a young man. I was feeling all mopey and serious about this responsibility when I stumbled onto this post by Shannon:

“…the cacophony of burps, arm-pit farts, and booger jokes wafted around around my kitchen (while I was trying to eat, mind you)…”

Moms of boys? Go read it and laugh. It certainly put a smile on my face.


2 Responses to Son

  1. Heather says:

    Yes, well I have to say that my daughter is right up there with the laughing at the farts, etc. But, in all fairness, so am I. My son will always be my little boy, even when he’s 40.

  2. Mrs. Chicken says:

    Guess I better go study this, with my own little man on the way.

    Good to see you around these parts. Hope your Easter was joyous.

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