My youngest is seven today. He's really no longer a baby, though he retains a few precious baby qualities, and the curve of his face is still round and soft. His brother's is now growing angular and more adult, his limbs long and gawky (though he still tries to wrap them up inside my arms, legs tumbling off my lap like pick up sticks.

Mr. Seven wants to go to Carrabas tonight. Not really my idea of a perfect meal, but they love it. Think it's fancy with it's calamari and bread with dipping sauce. He had cupcakes at school (bought, not made...damn I don't have enough time) and got a little gift basket from his class. He's popular, loved, golden.

He's got some kind of charm, my seven year old. It's as if all the genes for endearing himself to people funneled from my husband and me into him. He's incessantly positive. He's a joiner, a team player and my guess is he'll grow up to be that kid I hated in high school.

It's a funny thing to see parts of yourself divided between children. The bigger one got my introspection, my ADD, my moodiness, my crooked grin and silly humor, and slightly sad eyes (when put together he's a looker) and my husband's long lanky body, introversion and stubbornness and need for emotional privacy. He also has a sense of nature that is poignant and in tune with a rhythm few get to hear. The young one got sportiness and skill from my fella, as well as an amazingly beautiful face, and a deep and abiding need to monitor social dynamics and keep people happy from me.

So very odd to watch them evolve.

Evan's birth was of moderate length but intense. As with Owen, my cervix wasn't having any of the opening up business and after hours of pitocin and frustration, I got the epidural, stuck at 4 centimeters ready to rest and watch All My Children, while everyone else got a sandwich.

As soon as the pain was gone, and the people were gone, with me settling into the sordid affairs of Erica Kane, I felt a undeniable "thump" in my pelvis. I called the nurse. Sure enough I'd gone from 4 to 10 cm in 30 minutes and I was told sharply not to push.


He slid out shortly thereafter and began a reign of colic and reflux that would last the next 5 months. I did not expect him to be so pleasing of a child based on his beginnings, but he is indeed a pleasing child.

He's seven. I'm happy he's here


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