A letter to my son on the occasion of his first birthday

Hello Jojo. (Or Joey, or Nate Bate, or any one of a dozen nicknames given to you by a sister who can’t keep her hands off you)

I never thought I’d have a son. Given the high number of girls that run through both sides of the family I thought for sure when we decided to find out your gender in advance of your birth the answer was going to be ‘it’s a girl of course’.

Your mother and I had to take a moment to recover our wits when the ultrasound tech told us it was a boy. (Your mom had gotten the ultrasound first while I was in the waiting room and apparently a wandering tech from another room had popped their head in, looked at the screen and pronounced you a girl before wandering off to give more misleading advice to other excited parents. So when I finally joined your mother to watch the end of the ultrasound she was fully prepared to for the declaration of girl and was just as gobsmacked as I was when the word was given)

It didn’t take very long for the differences between you and your sister to become apparent. Whereas Roo was always pushing herself, always upset at her perceived limitations (why can’t I walk yet!?) you have a much more relaxed attitude about life. Roo was up and running around the house by eleven months, always reaching into shelves and pulling things onto the floor before moving on to the next target and gleefully continuing her reign of terror.

You’re going to have to forgive me if I make a few comparisons with your sister in a letter that’s meant for you. It’s just that Roo is the only basis of comparison I have for anything related to child rearing and I’m constantly surprised at how different your two personalities are.

I’d have thought that given identical parental origins and a similar upbringing that, at this young age at least, the differences between your two personalities would be akin to variations on a theme, instead I find that you two are playing completely different songs and sometimes my mind threatens to melt into a puddle of goo reconciling the two melodies.

Whereas Roo fought me on everything I find you much more laid back. I can put you down in a pile of sweaters or with a single toy or even a pair of my sunglasses and you’ll run your fingers over it, feeling and prodding it for what seems like forever - before inevitable shoving it in your mouth. Which is great because that means I can stick you in one spot and then run around frantically, usually cleaning or trying to get everyone ready to go outside.

I’ve come to the conclusion that everything below knee level in the house tastes delicious. That is the only reason I can come up with for your unstoppable predilection to shoving even the most foul tasting object into your maw. Shoes and dirty clothes are like teethers to you. We’ve had to become extra vigilant when insuring that the lid to the toilet seat is down because you apparently look at toilets as your personal tasting bowl and your sister is still learning to remember to flush.

(I’ve washed your mouth out with soap because of that unfortunate experience twice now and both times you sat there and grinned at me with barely contained delight even though soap bubbles were cascading over your lips.)

Smiling. Good God, but do you like to smile. Big soppy grins when I walk through the door after work, or when I’ve caught you doing something that maybe you shouldn’t be. Shrieks of laughter when I toss you into the air, endless giggles as you crawl across the floor in pursuit of the cat or fleeing the ‘tender’ embrace of your sister. You only have a dozen teeth but every time you smile I can count each and every one of them because that grin of yours is so big you could get lost in it.

Sleep. Again. So different than your sister. Roo would fight sleep, cry for hours on end. Refuse to lie down unless someone was in the room with her, holding her hands between the bars of the crib. You, on the other hand, finish your bottle with a burp, grab hold of your stuffed Gator, roll over onto your stomach and I’m pretty sure you’re asleep before I leave the room. Now you balance that out by sometimes waking up at 2am and screaming bloody murder for two hours, but that seems to be tapering off these days. Thankfully.

Cars and strollers. Again, you’re like The Dude of the Wheels. We can make a three hour trip to the cottage and you’ll stay awake the whole time. Blissfully taking the scenery in. The first time we did the trip I kept waiting for you to throw a rod and start screaming - but it never happened.  Your sister would protest even the shortest car ride or walk where she was strapped into a car seat or stroller, but as long as you’ve got a toy to play with you couldn’t care less.

I used to say you were obsessed with sports. Whenever I flipped the TV on you seemed to gravitate towards anything hockey or baseball related. Although now I’m pretty sure you’re just following the colours and motions. But I’m not ready to pack away the theory just yet. I’ve seen the way you hone in on your sister’s hockey stick or how any ball instantly becomes your favorite toy.

Having even one child can feel like an insurmountable challenge. Having two (or more) adds a degree of difficulty that even parenting veterans probably aren’t prepared for.

But I am fully aware of how lucky I am that a sweet and happy little fellow like yourself is making my job that much easier.