When I found out I was having my third boy, I cried.
We were sitting outside under the dogwood tree in our front yard where we bit into cupcakes and tasted the sugary, slightly gritty taste of that blue filling. And as much as I tried to remind myself how happy I should be I was having a healthy baby, a little bit of me couldn’t help feeling a bit sad for what I wouldn’t be getting.
Now here we are four years later, and I can’t imagine life without this little boy.
God knew exactly what I needed.
A little boy who literally jumps from everything. Who is constantly bouncing or hopping or making loud sound effects for whatever toy he’s dragging along beside him. A little boy who is always keeping me on my toes but never ceases to keep a smile on my face.
I thought little boys were all rough-housing and potty humor until I felt the sweet way my little boys would snuggle up next to me after a busy day racing around the yard.
I thought I was best suited for tea parties and dolls, but God knew my patience needed some refinement with sticky fingers and muddy footprints.
I thought I needed a little mini-me to dress up in frilly dresses and bows until I experienced the privilege of being a little boy’s first love.
I thought I knew what I wanted until I got something even better.