He’s the last born, but also a first born, because he’s a boy after three girls.
He’s a guy with a plan, a vision. He expects to be listened to, but he’ll also listen with a soft heart. Give him Lego, but don’t give him the boxed instructions. Give him attention by bouncing the ball back and forth for as long as can. Them let him roam the backyard alone for an hour. He’s also happy to be by himself.
Let him tell his funny jokes.
They all have the same theme. The same four year old theme. Honey, let’s not talk about that, I say, again. But it’s his favourite subject. No matter how dry his jokes, no matter how clever his timing, it’s still gross to me. With age, hopefully, his topic of choice will prove what I believe to be true, that he is witty.
Maybe it’s his age that I’m not fully aware of who he is, or maybe he really does resemble each of his sisters but he can be too bossy, too forceful, just like his firstborn sister. He can be the happy peacemaker like his middle sister. He can demand attention and be the silly guy like his third sister, and not want to settle down at night like his biggest sister. And he’s smart as a whip, counting to a hundred before he was three, just like his third sister.
He asked me one day what the last number in the world was…he liked my answer: to infinity and beyond!
Seems to me each of our kids are uniquely crafted, designed for some life purpose, a once-in-a-lifetime, once-in-the-world stamp of individuality. No one will be like them in the future; no one’s been like them in the past.