A {sort of} happy birthday . . .

Today is my little man, Isaiah, or Z-man’s, ninth birthday. I can hardly believe it has been that long since his skinny little self made his first appearance as the thinnest, kickingest newborn I have ever seen. He was early (my only baby kind enough to spare me a few weeks of pregnancy) and as skinny as a “rubber chicken” (an affectionate nickname that has stuck LOL) at 22.5 inches and just 7 lbs 8 oz!  He was serious, even then, and he hasn’t changed one bit.

Brian and I were reminiscing about the first time we took Isaiah to an amusement park. He was 19 months old and it was our first outing since Alayna was born (I think she was about 10 days old- yeah, I am that crazy woman!). We spent the afternoon at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk with Grandpa Doug. We had settled Isaiah into the seat of the “airplane” ride and buckled him in. I watched from the sidelines, near tears, because I could see that my baby was terrified from the way he gripped the steering wheel and held his mouth in a grim line (he rarely cried out of fear, even then, he wanted to be tough). I was just a moment away from asking the attendant to stop the ride so I could rescue my frightened, miserable baby, when the ride mercifully came to an end. I rushed to his side and scooped him up. He immediately started to cry and I thought, “See, he just needed the safty of Mama to open the flood of emotion he was holding in.” But in Isaiah’s broken speech he cried out, “Mo!! Mama!! Mo!!”  Oh, how I miss-judged my child! For the rest of that afternoon Isaiah rode ride after ride, never cracking a smile or showing any sign of enjoyment. He would just cry out “Mo!” in between each “thrill” to indicate his heart’s desire. We couldn’t believe it. And as far as this personality trait goes with Isaiah, NOTHING has changed.

Today, despite being a sick kid (he had the stomach flu today, his birthday), Isaiah rallied long enough to get some fresh air on the lawn and to open his gifts. He has been taking violin lessons for a year now (our pre-requisite to guitar lessons, which is what he really wants). He had no idea that we (and Grandma & Grandpa) had gone together to get him his own electric guitar and amp (the real deal, this is no toy). Brian and I were super excited to see his reaction when he opened it (although we KNEW it wouldn’t be overly animated, this is ISAIAH we are talking about). As he peeked into the box a tiny (really, it was tiny) smile crept across his face, then disappeared as he soberly assessed the guitar. He didn’t yell, he didn’t scream.  He just sat there, holding it. He said the proper “Thanks, Mom and Dad” but it was with about as much enthusiasm as you might expect a nine-year-old to give for a new sweater. But Brian and I know our son and tried to take it in stride. And, sure enough, at bedtime, when I asked him if he liked his new guitar he flashed me his signature Cheshire Cat grin and said, “Yeeeeah!”.

— I suppose that will just have to do.

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