Thursday, September 24, 2009

Good Things Come In Threes...Or Do They?

Maybe it is just 3rd time lucky.

You are son #3 - who just turned four today.

You were the most laid back, happy and congenial baby on the planet for the first two years. I was desperate for a daughter and, in all honesty, it was a real blow when you popped out sporting a swollen and engorged penis that impressed the pediatrician and had your father puffing his chest and muttering, 'chip off the old block' to anyone who passed comment.

Despite mourning the daughter that I was never destined to have, you had me wrapped around my little finger from day one. You even deigned to humour me a little, by loving the colour pink, being obsessed with cuddly toys and preferring dolls to Thomas. You were a chunky little bruiser, filled with affection for all, and your cheeky little smile, so reminiscent of my sister, captivated me completely.

Then you turned three. Oh what a year we've just had.

I should have guessed I was heading for trouble. You somehow missed the Terrible Two installation v2007 and remained your cheery, engaging self with hardly a tantrum in sight. Then you seemed to hit three with a vengeance. If ever there was a 3 year old on steroids, you were it.

Tantrums, obstinence, stubborness, retaliation, aggression...just a few of the desirable characteristics you have concentrated on perfecting. You have the confidence to take me on, head to head, on a daily basis. And it's been an exhausting process to step up on my parenting skills, rise to the challenge, and hang on by the skin of my teeth to remain the victor in every battle presented.

But it's impossible not to love you, heart and soul. Because if you remind me of anyone, it has to be me.

Irrepressible. Endlessly seeking to be the centre of attention. Overly demonstrative. Flirtatious. Like a little bull in a china shop with your barrel chest and solid little thighs. The demeanour of a miniature thug, with a heart of gold that has an empathy beyond your years. I am constantly amused, watching from the sidelines, as you spend your days trying to win friends and influence people, through means fair or foul.

Happy 4th Birthday Johnny Drama. My baby. My boy.

God, you're a handful. But I love you more than I can ever say.


  1. Oh what a lovely tribute to your boy.

    Beautifully written. He sounds like an utterly delightful (really!) sweetie pie. Hope, now that he's four, he's less of a handful. My Youngest was a hideous three year-old too. Improved immeasurably thereafter. Happy birthday to him - and to you!

  2. Loving your label there! I was going for the whole gay thing with mine, but I don't think it's happening any more either.

  3. Big cuddles from us girls over here to the big birthday boy over there!!!

  4. Happy Birthday, Johnny Drama.

    There's something about the one that we know will be our last child ... pulls at the heartstrings in their own special way.

    My baby boy used to be desperate to push his sister's dolly's pram. My father-in-law used to have a fit and was sure we were trying to "turn" him. He's a 6'3", 26 year old hunk now and not much given to dollies. Except the living, breathing sort ... The kind that really worry his mum.

    Have a great day enjoying the birthday with your baby.

    Mad x

  5. Lovely. Hold tight for about, ooh, 8 more years. My first son was the easiest baby and all hell broke loose from about 3 to 12. He is now so laid back you have to poke him with a stick sometimes!!!