May 21st, birthday gratitude entry:
Of all my kids, he’s my favorite.
Just ask him.
My third pregnancy, 16 weeks in, a surprise sonogram. I had come to the appointment solo, my husband at home with our other two children.
“Ah, a boy!”
We named him Alexander Richard Glasier. It was the perfect name for the perfect son! We went on to have two more children, thus making Alex our “middle child.”
I have never in my life witnessed a kid cry more than Alex did those first four years. I’m talking years. I’m talking four of them.
Did I mention that Alex cried for four years?
I remember being asked by a friend if I would come for a visit… but would I mind getting a sitter for Alex, and just come alone… I hold nothing against her. I got it. Oh, I got it. He cried. And he cried.
But, oh, I loved him. Snuggling in my arms, nursing, whispering stories into his sweet little ears… this calmed him. And me. We shared numerous “time outs together” in those magical first few years of his life.
He didn’t really care for eating… he survived on breastmilk til he was two. He graduated to chocolate milk (I bet we squeezed through a half ton of Hershey’s syrup by the time he was in kindergarten, I kid you not.)
He never ever graduated from our snuggles. Of course, today we call them hugs.
Best. Hugger. Ever.
He’s not one for words. But he expresses all that needs to be said with his hugs. He even sends me GIFs of “sneak hugs.” He’s the best ever!
And, as he is my third child, and I wanted him to know – I mean, knooooooow – that he is special… beyond compare… not just “hey, that’s my third kid, another boy…” and we surely had gobs and gobs of time together — did I mention that he cried a lot when he was lil? — I would whisper into his precious soul:
DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU’RE MY FAVORITE?
And he would smile.
Group text regarding Thanksgiving 2018 plans:
Me: Hey, guys… who’s coming home and when?
Adam: me too
Alex: I’ll be home first seeing as how I’m Mom’s favorite
Adam: dude, nope
Alex: GIF (guy shrugging)
We get to joking… I’ll say, “Big Al, how does it feel to be my favorite?” and he’ll reply, “I’ve been your fave for so long… I guess it feels like it always feels.” And he’ll shrug, his eyes twinkling.
I’d like to say that he knows we’re joshing around.
But we’re not.
Just ask him.
He’s tall, the tallest of my five kids. And, God, handsome. Smart. Like, Ihavenoideawhatyou’resaying smart. Yea, that kinda smart. Toss a little smart-ass in there, a baseball cap, lotsa tattoos, double pierced ears, a gold chain, a huge smile, and the tenderest heart… and you’re looking at my guy.
Raising him wasn’t the easiest thang I’ve ever done. He had this I-won’t-poop thing. Physically, the doctors insisted he was able, but Alex refused. From the time he was weaned til well into primary school, I had to enema his poor little constipated butt every Friday night. It was traumatizing. My husband was beside himself.
“I’ll take care of the others… you do… that,” he would say, pointing to the plastic bottle of water.
Oh, yes, fun times in the Augustine-Glasier household on those Fridays nights. (I shit you not.)
Tangent: some of us can be quite sensitive. And even moving our bowels can feel like losing a piece of our bodies… I remember the time when my second son, Adam, at age 5, completely freaked out about having his immunization shots. Sans communication, I could not figure out what set him on such an edge… later, in his early twenties, we revisited that trauma…
Me: Hey, why did you lose it that one time?
Him: I thought the needle would prick me and ALL of my blood would come seeping out… like a balloon that gets poked and then eventually fizzles… I thought I was gonna die from the shot.
I can only imagine perhaps Alex felt that moving his bum was equivalent to losing his arm.
Anyhoo, let’s get back on track: these are the precious memories of motherhood that keep me smiling, and recalling just how wonderfully blessed I have been. Five souls. Five journeys to witness.
A bajillion memories.
He lives out in Elma now, has a job crunching numbers. He digs it. Sends me pictures of his lunch with a comment like, “I know you wanna know I’m eating good… here’s today’s lunch, Mom.”
He’s quirky. This is probably my most favorite aspect of him. He’s just kinda left of center. Outside the box. Giving incredible thought at Christmas, we are the recipients of spot-on perfect gifts from him… and his homemade birthday cards are priceless:
“Hey, I know you’re getting old, Grandma, but happy birthday anyway.”
“Wow, 75. Oh well, happy birthday.”
“Another birthday. Another card. Love, Your Favorite Kid.”
Well, ain’t in the truth.
Just ask him.
To my fave: here’s your song. Truly, truly, nobody does it better.
Alexander Richard Glasier, I love you.
You. Complete. Me.
Much love & hope,