Number One Fan

When I was pregnant with Madelyn, we didn't know she was a "Madelyn" until she was actually born.  I didn't really think too hard about what it would be like to parent a little boy or a little girl because I was genuinely excited about parenting either and I didn't want to start hoping for one over the other.  As I was coming out of the anesthesia fog and Kurt told me that Madelyn Grace was waiting for me, I felt an immediate sense of relief and connection.  I would've been just as thrilled with a baby boy, but there was less mystery about a girl.  I'm a girl.  I know how to be a girl and connect with a girl, and indeed, parenting a little girl has been a delight and a blessing.

When I was pregnant with Henry, we chose to find out that he was a "Henry" at twenty weeks, so I had several months to imagine what it would be like to parent a little boy.  I knew I would be bonkers in love with him, but I did worry that I wouldn't connect to him as easily as I did with Madelyn or that I wouldn't be as motivated to play with him because I've never been super excited about typical "boy" activities.

Well as it turns out, all that worry was a complete waste of time (story of my life).  I connected immediately, deeply, and eternally to that little boy the second I heard his cry, and the second I held him in my arms, I knew I would enthusiastically hunt for worms, play cops and robbers, or roll around in the mud if that's what would bring him joy.  In the last several months, we have really seen Henry's little personality emerge and begin to blossom.  He has had access to the same toys and the same activities that Madelyn did when she was his age, but the toys toward which he gravitates and the ways that he plays with them are completely different.  This boy is all about wheels.  In a book full of gorgeous, colorful animals, he can find the one page with the one tiny truck drawn in the distance and he doesn't want to look at any other pages.  Thursdays are the best mornings at our house because the garbage truck, recycle truck, and compost truck all come in their big wheeled, loud engined, smelly glory.  He can (and does) make a car out of anything and somehow instinctively knows to drive it along any surface (floor, arm chairs, my legs) while making an enthusiastic "bbbbb" sound.  But in Henry's world, even garbage trucks, racecars, and tractors are trumped by anything with two wheels, much to his father's and Papa's utter delight.  He is absolutely fascinated with bicycles and motorcycles.  We start every day with a MotoGP motorcycle video, and he can always hear a motorcycle coming before I can.  Daddy is practically a superhero because he rides his bike to work everyday, and even at just 17 months, he tries desperately to ride his sister's Strider bike and is getting closer and closer to actually doing it every day (he doesn't know this yet, but a brand new red Strider is in his near future).  Papa gave him a short motorcycle riding demo up and down their street yesterday, and Henry stood on the front stoop and watched with rapt fascination.  

The thing is:  I absolutely love connecting with my son over motorcycles.  I think they're loud and dangerous and pretty impractical in Portland, but none of that matters one lick when they bring my son joy.  I know I might sing a different tune when he's 16 and wants to actually start riding them (Lord help me), but for now, I genuinely enjoy sitting down with him and pouring over the pages of the most recent issue of Cycle World and watching him point out all the Ducati's (how does he already know this stuff?!).  

Anyway, no matter what the passion, I love being my son's number one fan, and I so look forward to continuing to learn about who he is and what he loves.  Who knows, maybe he and his MOMMY will ride motorcycles together one day!