Wendell | 1 year

Wendell Thomas. Golden Boy. Mister Destructo. Wennie Poozer. Wennell Poopers. 

He has charmed his way into our hearts with his mellow beginnings, which have since ramped up.  It's so hard to imagine life without our little early bird chirping at the crack of dawn, raring to go for the day. 

There was a day, just last week, where he had a really high fever, and I had the morbid thought, "Well, at least we had a year with him." His beginnings were a little rocky and we wondered, if briefly, how much time we were going to get with this new little one. He's been such a sweetie, so loveable and snuggly, that sometimes, I have to bury the thought, "He's too pure and perfect for this world." And there's his namesake. Already gone home. What if we picked the perfect name for our little Wendell, because he'll go home early, too? I know that isn't how God works. I know Wendell could very well leave us early, but it wouldn't be because of his name. But I came to the conclusion in all my post-nursing topsy-turvy hormones, if all we had was a year with our Wendell, it would be so worth knowing this little sunbeam. 

His grin and the gleam in his eye are what will keep me from wanting to stomp out that nixiness, no matter how exasperating it is/will be. I've already tasted the challenge of what it will be to raise a child so different than me. Fiona isn't just like me, but she's a lot more like me than this tiny adrenaline junkie. 

I can't keep him down. And while sometimes it sounds nice to have that mellow little babe back who does nothing but snuggle, I want to love who he is, mess-making, firing-on-all-cylinders, climbing maniac. 

 (And for the time being, I can at least make him wear dapper little outfits and floral bowties;). )

 He has the sweetest way of pointing and exclaiming over things that delight him: bugs. Tractors. Anything with wheels that goes. Sweets. Balls. Bucky the dog. Our three resident kitties (anyone need one? Seriously.). His big sister. His daddy going out for the day. His first words sound an awful lot like, "bug", "Buck", & "ball". I think I hear, "mama" too.

 Now that he's steadier on his feet, if he senses his purposes are about to be crossed, (like, say, his mother sees him shoveling catfood into his mouth and lunges toward him) he'll take off as fast as his off-the-charts-short little legs will carry him. With a ornery little chuckle. He acts without thinking. Already. Everything needs to be dumped out. Or tasted. I see so much of his father in his actions. Quick, active, and farm-loving. We hear he looks "so much like his dad!" "Just like Uncle Alex." "He is so similar to his cousin, Kaso!" He belongs with us anyway.

 How do you sum up a year of someone who goes from doing nothing but sleeping and eating to careening around, brimming with personality & on the verge of speaking? There's still so much about Wendell Thomas that remains to be discovered, to be delighted in, to sigh in exasperation over. But our first year with him has been sweet. And if it were the only one, I'd know we were made richer, fuller, better for having him in our lives. 

Happy first, Wendell! You are loved and adored. Keep keepin' me on my toes.