Two years ago today, Paul took the day off work. Me, too. We got dressed in “church clothes” and loaded both boys in the car for the drive to Canton. We got lost, as is my tradition when going to Canton (Why must there be eight varieties of the same street? Eighth Street WNWSE? Why, Canton? WHY?!?) but I’d planned for it, and we got to our destination in plenty of time.
At 10:30, we trooped into a family courtroom – along with my mom and my sister, who’d shown up as a surprise – and talked to Judge Dixie Park. She decided we looked alright, and she’d let us have a boy two years before that we hadn’t demonstrably damaged. So she signed papers and banged her gavel, and it was done.
The baby with the chia pet hair became ours, officially and forever.
He’s gotten awfully big since then, and joined the I-want-to-go-outside brigade.
He swims like an otter, whines like a champ, and rarely lets Clifford out of his sight.
He adores his three grandparents beyond all reason, chatters like a jaybird, and has more girlfriends than you can shake a stick at. Which is unsurprising – look at that face.
We love you, ‘Lias. I’m so happy I get to be your mama.