As we were putting the Cool Bros to bed last night, my heart was full but a little heavy. It would be the last night that Cool Newbie would be a two-year-old.
He’s a chatty, cheery toddler who’s not to shy to bless me with an “I love you, Daddy.” Just five minutes ago, as I was pulling him out of the car when he and Cool Mum got back from the park, he said in his nasal, raspy tone, “I’m so glad to see you! I missed you.”
The shields are down, Captain! We’ve been hit! This kid knows how to pinpoint your heart and leave it in a puddle on the floor.
We weren’t always sure he’d be so jubilant. He was born into what I’d call a unique situation. (Read that story from June 2010.) He came home from Mt. Sinai Hospital to a three-bedroom duplex on 89th Street that we shared with two roommates. At night, our whole family slept in an 8′ by 8′ bedroom. His domain was a used bassinet I rolled down two avenue blocks of bumpy sidewalk, probably rattling key screws and bolts loose.
As a result, we believed, he seemed to be a serious baby. He cried until his voice reached a strained oscillation, and they weren’t mad cries, like “You guys are stuffing cupcakes while I need milk?! FEED ME!!” They were sad, as if he contemplated to God, “Out of all the homes I could’ve been born into…this?”
But something happened. Maybe it was moving into more space in the Bronx, or perhaps our doting and prayers just won him over, but eventually came the smiles, then the giggles, to now the squeals of joy when I dive in for a tickle or the sweet guffaws that follow a toot-toot. As I pray every night: Thank you, Lord, that Micah has grown up to be a sweet, happy, loving boy.
Happy 3rd Birthday, Cool Newbie! Our family would be nowhere near as cool without you.