It has been called to my attention that my “middle child,” George has been getting very little air time here at The Big Piece of Cake. A least, in comparison to his brother and sister.
Four year old, Oliver is my special boy with special needs, as well as my oldest – so he’s automatically Mr. Spotlight. Eleanor, at age two, is a dramatic girl with an excessive love of all things classified “ballerina” (including tee shirts and jeans that I’ve somehow managed to convince her are “ballerina shirts” and “ballerina jeans”). So she also claims star status on a frequent basis.
One would assume that my middle child fades by comparison. Yet this is far from the truth. George, who is actually the middle child by only one minute (he and Eleanor are twins) is no stranger to the spotlight. And I’m not referring to my posts about his bald head and his pasty white legs. When we are out in public, George gets noticed.
People really gravitate to George. He has the sweetest little face with the proverbial big brown eyes, as well as a smile that could melt even Satan’s icy heart. Well okay, that’s probably going too far – but Satan would be enchanted with him and would probably want to adopt him as a demi-demon. Note to self: throw out the Ouiji board pronto. Of course I’m just kidding about that last part! We don’t own a Ouiji board.
George is my snuggley kid. He always wants to be picked up and hugged, and he clings to me like a little monkey. Luckily, he’s always been tiny so it’s not too taxing. I’m used to much bigger loads. George is a feather in comparison to his older brother. who was always on the gargantuan side. Even now, Oliver easily doubles George’s weight, though their age difference is only 18 months.
I have a million “awww!” inducing stories about my George – but really, who wants to read that? Okay – grandmas aside, I mean. A sweet anecdote every once in a while is fine, but let’s face it, that gets old pretty fast. Besides, where would I start? I mean, he’s a walking adorableness factory.
And you know what? I’m actually very pleased that he gets the most votes for “cutest Hood child” because he started life as one of the weirdest looking babies I’ve ever seen. He was fine at birth when he was all swollen, giving him the illusion of pinchable cheeks. But he very quickly began to look like what one my friends astutely described as “something from The Lord of the Rings.” My mother in law called him “The Woodland Creature.” I called him “The Changling.” And we’re the givers of unconditional love! So you know he had to be a little “unusual” as far as newborn babies go. Want proof?
But then he started looking like this:
He’s the one on the left.
And this:
And – Ohmygodhe’ssocute – this:
And even when he did look like a changling – he was soooo sweet. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him. Okay – I’m back on the precipice of eye roll-worthy “aren’t my kids cute” blather… So here are a few recent George antics.
First – his mad climbing skillz have proved to be the catalyst for taking down the cribs in the twins’ room. One day, he just stopped sleeping in his crib. He would either come into our room and climb into bed with us, or if he couldn’t get out of his own room (is it bad parenting to lock your kids in?), he’d just sleep on the floor. We finally got to a point where I’d just make up a bed for him on the floor next to Eleanor’s crib. And he was thrilled. But then Eleanor wanted to sleep on the floor too. So after a few nights of making up pallets for them, I decided to stop the madness and dismantled the cribs.
We haven’t decided what to do with them yet (toddler beds or big beds), so their crib mattresses are just sitting on the floor. Not that George actually sleeps on his. He still prefers to create a nest in odd areas of the room. My favorite is when he wedges himself up against the door so I can’t open it. I have to force my way in if I hear Eleanor crying for me. And he sleeps through that! What a weirdo.
He’s also taken to snacking on ice. Seriously – he will stand by the refrigerator and ask for it. If I say, “no George, you’ve had enough ice – no more,” he will wail like I snatched a chocolate bunny out of his hands. There isn’t too much to say about this other than the fact that I never expected to be having fights with my child about overeating ice.
Then there is his pronunciation of certain words. Every parent has a moment when their child says something that sounds dirty or rather age inappropriate. I recently wrote about my two year old daughter saying something that sounded like “Mommy! What the fuck?” Well George has a whole repertoire of these gems.
My two favorites are “penguins” and “Percy.” Percy is a character in Thomas the Tank Engine stories. He’s one of the best known characters – one of the “leads” if you will – so when my boys play with trains, the names Thomas, James, Emily and Percy come up fairly often. But George doesn’t say “Percy” – he says “pussy.” I think this must be common – but that doesn’t make it any less startling.
The other one is truly bizarre. First of all, I wouldn’t think that we would have so many opportunities for the kids to see penguins in our house. Sure a DVD is playing 24/7 – but most don’t involve penguins… Somehow George manages to find reasons to yell “Penguins!” on a daily basis. But again, it doesn’t sound like he’s saying “penguins.” If I had to spell it phonetically, it would be “PEHN-is.” So we’ve gotten used to George yelling “penis” a lot.
You would think we’d get used to it…
You would be wrong.
Oh how I love my George… I can’t get enough of him. Really, I can’t get enough of any of them (except for maybe at 2 a.m. when I can’t get enough of uninterrupted sleep). They’re all so wonderfully sweet and odd and completely themselves. They have such distinct personalities. And while I wish so many things for them, it’s this sense of self, this unique brand of “me” that all children possess for most of their early years that so often makes its way to the top of the list.
We’re all different. We’re all individuals. But we’re not all so completely confident and guileless in this knowledge as we were when we were two. Or four. Or seven. I really don’t know when this fades, but it’s such a wonder to see and such an inspiration for the parents who have spent most of their lives whittling away at those odd edges and corners – all so we can fit in the round holes that fill our daily grind.
So I hope that my George keeps his quirks and odd edges. That he continues to charm the pants off of the grumpiest of curmudgeons (that old softie Satan included). That he remains oblivious to the concept of “fitting in” as long as possible. Of course I eventually want him to “fit in” – but I’d like him to do it on his own terms.
This most charming middle child of mine will never fall through the cracks in our family.
And if for any reason he ever did – all he has to do is yell “penguins!” or “Percy!” At the very least, I’ll try to shut him up with a piece of ice.
