Happy Birthday, Ben Diesel!

Today is the day my fourth son came into this world. Right from the start, he proved to be a unique child. He was born in the middle of the kitchen floor, which he doesn’t like to tell people. Kitchens are for eating–not having babies, he told me one day.

He came out with a head full of bushy hair and a fat nose. He looks just like his daddy, I remember saying.

On day #3 of his life, he began what would become a six year fascination with his two middle fingers. We had a hard time breastfeeding because he preferred those two fingers. So in the middle of night, exhausted, scraping by on a couple hours sleep, I gave in. He won that battle.

Go ahead, suck your fingers, Cyan.

Every time he went to sleep, you heard that little sucking sound. Sucksucksucksucksucksuck. When he got older, he tried to get undercover about his little finger-sucking habit. So he’d hide in a Spiderman blanket so we couldn’t see him. But we could still hear him. Sucksucksucksucksuck. Then, if he was really trying to be sneaky about it, it would sound like this:

suck (pause) suck (pause) suck (pause) suck.

He was also the first child that made me wake up Michael in the middle of the night so he could help me with the baby. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Help me, I would cry. There were many mornings I woke up to find Michael splayed out on the livingroom sofa in his underwear, mouth hanging open, snoring…with Cyan snuggled in his arms. One night I woke up startled, because I had gotten more than two hours of interrupted sleep and Cyan was not in the bed with me. This is what I found in the livingroom: my husband knocked out on the sofa, his boxer briefs stuffed in his butt to give him a fantastic wedgie…and Cyan, buckled into his carseat….which was swinging back and forth…from a chain…which was hanging from a hook in the ceiling…which was drilled into the ceiling sometime during the night.

Yeh, being an exhausted parent with a screaming child makes you do some crazy things.

I suppose buying a swing from Toys ‘R Us would have been ideal. But when its 3 a.m and you need to make a kid shut up before you do something rash, and your wife was going through this crazy, attachment-parenting phase which forbade said parent from buying any “mechanical baby-holders” such as a swing….drilling a hook into the celing and hanging a chain on it and attaching a carseat with a screaming infant inside of it…well, it makes perfect sense to me. He loved that homemade, ghetto swing, too. And it gave us precious, much-needed sleep.

And it was funny.

Another thing that makes Cyan unique is his ability to make himself pass out, which thankfully, he doesn’t do anymore. But those I’m-mad-so-let-me-hold-my-breath-til-I-turn-blue were a daily occurence for a while. Then there were the tantrums. I have seen my fair share of shoes, toys, hangers, and books fly past my head as he’s experienced one of his he done lost his ever -lovin’ mind episodes. I’ve never seen a boy get his butt whooped as often as this child because let me just say…you don’t throw a book at this mama’s head and get away with it. You better run first and ask questions later.

I’ll give you a head start.

What I love about Cyan is he has alot of heart. Being the youngest of five boys isn’t easy. He’s the baby, without really being the baby. So he has cultivated this tough guy persona. The way he talks and the way he walks screams, “Don’t mess with me!” He’s like this little pitbull who loves to terrorize his little sisters and a couple of his big brothers. But in reality, out of all the chil’rens, he is the one that really needs that extra TLC. I have just a couple of those in the family, and they just pull at my heartstrings. Probably because they are most like their daddy, and we all know how much I live their daddy.

And finally, Cyan is a boy with several aliases. Most people don’t even know him as Cyan cuz we call him Benny all the time. Benny a.k.a Benny the Jet Rodriguez from The Sandlot. He is his grandma’s “Chango Chango” because he looks like a little monkey. And now, he’s been christened Ben Diesel because he’s got it like that.

I love you, son. Hope you have a happy 7th birthday.

Benny and those fingers. He always looked like he was getting ready to whistle at somebody.

Huh? What? Can I get some juicey?

This is what he looked like for about five years straight. I’m serious!

Happy Birthday, son! You’ve made this adventure of motherhood anything but dull.

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Happy Birthday, Ben Diesel!

Please don’t make me talk about sex ever again

Happy Birthday, Ben Diesel!


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