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My boy.

Such
an easy baby
slept and nursed like clockwork
though not a fan of sleeping through

Did not protest the glop of peanut butter fudge crunch
landing squarely on his fuzzy 3 month old head
did protest the sunglasses

More bonks and scrapes sustained as Indy
than anyone could count
running by 11 months has its consequences

He learned to use his eyebrows at three
Suddenly more serious
dubious
quizzical

Never let slip more than a word or two
until that next summer
when entire stories flowed freely

Made me feel
alternately
equally
a mothering expert
and sure that I would never survive

he does still

my fever-hot baby
my on the run toddler
my furious four year old
my proud kindergartener
my fierce warrior
my strong student
my eighteen year old twelve year old
my boy.

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