The Cutest Kid Ever

Evan is becoming more and more of a little boy, and less like a toddler every day. Granted, he still has monstrous toddler tantrums that can put most toddler tantrums to shame, but everyday, he's speaking, walking, running, and jumping like a little boy. At 2 1/2 years old, it doesn't seem possible that the next time I look really hard, he may be in kindergarten, or high school, or getting married. I hope I look hard every day, but when I stop to think and appreciate this little human, I get all teary eyed and proud.

Today, he's helping his daddy put up new closet doors on our front hall closet. He's handing him tools, counting screws, and asking "What Happened?" each time daddy does something new to the doors. He's running around with a tape measure being daddy's little helper.

I'm trying to imagine him being a big brother, and I think he'd be ok with it. I know right now he yearns for more interaction with kids than I can give him, and it's almost time for preschool. Just got to get that potty training thing down.

It's a little weird, this "trying" for a baby thing. Little E was not planned, nor on the horizon, but was a wonderful and liberating surprise. When my husband and I got married on the beaches of St. Thomas, I was 19 weeks pregnant, and all was good with the world. And though we were not married when he was conceived, I wanted a baby with every fiber of my being, wanted a baby so bad that I think my mind literally overrode my body and rendered my birth control pills obsolete. Mind over matter, I suppose. So now that we are trying for a baby, there are a lot of firsts. Including WANTING a positive sign to show up on that stick.

Until Evan, I had never taken a pregnancy test. Never. I was 27 years old, and yes, I had a couple late periods, but nothing that ever made me take a pregnancy test. Now, I've taken more than I can count in the last few months, half hoping, half dreading the result of each test. But the fun part is, that when it is finally positive, it will be something to celebrate from that very minute, without the constraints of worry that came along with the positive test for Evan. With Evan, it was worry about everything with the hopes that it would all work out. And it has. Evan just sped things along, as my husband likes to say.

So now, I watch the cutest kid ever run around this house, and hope that the second time around will be just as happy and just as fun and just as exciting. Yes, there will still be worries, but they will be different ones this time. And this time, when that stick is positive, I won't have to start the conversation with a knot in my stomach as I say "Um, I have something I need to tell you...". And hopefully, the second time around, the first reaction won't be "Are you going to tell me you crashed the car?"