AKA Russ! My only son. It’s funny when I was a teenager I only wanted sons. I thought girls were just too dramatic. This may have come from having an older and younger sister in the house 😉 Drama? Yes, lots of it! I thought boys were easy to raise. Well, I am thankful that God knew I had little to no experience with boys and one would be enough for me. One prince to show me how little I really knew about the male species! Or three princesses to teach my hubby about women 🙂
When I found out I was having a boy I was excited, no pressure now. I would have one son and one daughter, whatever other children the Lord would give us would be fine. I wouldn’t find myself as a mom of 15 girls still trying to have a son 🙂
The biggest challenge would be naming this prince. You see my husband is the 7th or 8th William in a row. Now they do have different middle names, but the 3 generations before my son, all still alive, were all called Bill or some variation. My hubby was known as Little Billy in his family. Little Billy even though he was the oldest grandchild, firstborn of his family, and taller than the rest of them. To complicate matters, his maternal grandfather’s name was also William. And his mom’s only brother, who had no children to carry on the name on that side of the family, another Bill. What I knew I didn’t want to do to my son was name him Baby Billy. I mean what do you call the son of Little Billy if his name is also Bill? I couldn’t see the tradition changing because of me though.
Thankfully my husband was with me on this one. We debated forever about what to do. We could name him Maxwell William. We could name him William Maxwell and call him Max. We could call him Will, Liam, William, but no these names were not high on our list of options outside of the fact that hubby was the 7th or 8th William. And while continuing a family tradition is usually one of my favorite things to do, it seemed like a little creativity was needed here. 🙂 So Maxwell it is!
Now Max is not your average boy. I mean how can you be an average boy with 1 older sister and 2 younger sisters. At one point we even had two other girls living with us. “Poor Max” was all he ever heard when people realized he was the only boy! That has never really been true though. Max is one blessed boy. He is adored by his youngest sister; afterall, she is a little version of him in so many ways! He is the Prince too! No sharing the boy time with any brothers. He gets lots of attention and sympathy for his single son status. And as I remind him often, he understands women better than the average boy. He sees in detail how they think, and operate. And let’s face it in the future (which at this point he assures me is not happening!), he will have his sisters friends as possible options for a spouse 😉
Max is gentle. I think a lot of the rough boy edges have been smoothed off by having sisters. Let’s face it, you can’t wrestle with sisters the way you can with brothers. They don’t often agree to play war with you, or want to build guns and battles out of legos. They insist that if you want to play with them you can be the dog, the brother, or the dad in their games. He does enjoy a good wrestle with his dad, but frankly he is getting too strong for me to mess with at all anymore!
He pretends he doesn’t like my hugs and kisses anymore. He’s getting to that point where he is easily embarrassed by any parental PDA’s 🙂 He does enjoy taking walks with us, again as long as we don’t hold hands or walk too close together. We like to occasionally just stop out of the blue and do a big “wartime” embrace to hear him groan. 🙂
He was my easiest baby after a tough pregnancy and first few weeks of life. I was put on bedrest at about 32 weeks for preterm labor. Having a 21 month old and being on bedrest was not an enjoyable experience. He baked long enough though and was born 10 days before my due date by induction. A nice short labor, a sweet baby boy with big eyes and long eye lashes. I remember after it was over my midwife joking that my make up and hair weren’t even messed up.
Max caused quite a stir at about 4-6 weeks though. He was always hungry and would nurse for as long as I would let him. This was a bit of a challenge with a toddler who found herself jealous of this baby who was always in the lap she used to possess. He wasn’t a real fan of sleeping either. I was a young mom, I think not quite 25 when he was born. Afraid I was going to mess up. Anxious about everything. I had already failed at nursing and was determined to make it work this time but this child did not ever seem satisfied even though he was growing fine. My first had followed a schedule so well and this baby boy did not like waiting to eat, or eating in less than an hour. I was worn out. It’s hard to survive on an hour’s sleep at a time. He would nurse for an hour, sleep for an hour, and want to nurse again. I almost quit nursing altogether and a friend talked me into trying longer. She gave me tips for increasing my milk supply and reminded me why I wanted to do it.
Unfortunately, a week or so later, Max stopped having bowel movements. At first I wasn’t too concerned. I think I only mentioned it to the Dr because we had a check up. Then it was nearly a week without one. They tried to encourage a movement with a thermometer. They checked him over and said to give it a little more time. We started doing weight checks to make sure he was gaining weight, we did an xray to make sure there wasn’t an obstruction or anything else wrong. People told me maybe he was just an efficient nurser and there was no waste. Then we entered week two. A referral to a gastroenterologist to make sure it isn’t more serious. He started talking about biopsies of the colon. Wait, wait, wait, was our response. Our son had been going just fine, it seemed a bit extreme to subject him to something like that, there must be other options. A couple more days, no movement, they decided if he didn’t go over the weekend they needed to biopsy the following week.
Fear, panic, you name it I felt it. Never having had a surgery myself, I couldn’t imagine my little 6 week old son having to undergo anesthesia and a painful procedure. I went to the pediatrician for another weight check, this time he hadn’t gained. Sobbing in her office, asking her for any other ideas, I did not feel comfortable at all with a biopsy. She said, “Well, let’s try to give him a bottle and see what happens. Maybe because his weight leveled off this week, he isn’t getting enough to eat and it just starting to show now.” Even though I had just nursed him, he drank the entire sample bottle she gave us. She encouraged me to keep nursing him and then when he was done nursing to “top him off” with a bottle for the weekend and we would check again on Monday. My little prince loved the bottles, and sure enough Saturday night overflowed his diaper all over his car seat! Sunday morning at church was definitely a time of praise! Everyone had been praying for him to poo, and finally he had! 🙂 17 days it took! The pediatricians said he set a new office record. 🙂
Now my boy is taller than me at 13.5. His foot is bigger than his dad’s. His smile still makes my heart melt. Those eyelashes still longer than any of the girls. His giggle cracks me up. His voice changing makes me long for those days of my sweet little baby boy, and yet anxiously look forward to the man he is becoming. His curly hair, reminds me of his toddler curls.
He loves to play sports with his dad. He is considering football this fall. He’s a great swimmer, waterskier, kneeboarder. Like his dad, he’s never met a sport he didn’t like.
He’s a bit shy at first. Sometimes a little sarcastic. Always looking to “get someone” whether by hiding in the house waiting to scare them, or by a practical joke. (He is his father’s son afterall!)
I love watching him with his dad. He adores his dad, even though he might not realize it. To see him tossing a football with him, or taking a run together is one of my favorite things. I love that they have such a great relationship. They can talk about anything. He respect his dad, loves his dad, and truly knows he is loved by his dad. I love that he can count on his dad for anything. I love the way he brings out the best in his dad, and his dad brings out the best in him. I wish more sons and dads shared this kind of relationship.
My prince. I love that God allowed me the experience of a son.
There is nothing like having a son, is there?
I can just IMAGINE the hallelujahs when he finally messed his britches! 🙂
It was quite funny actually after the fact. Lots of laughing about praying for poo.
My hubby still likes to tease him occasionally that he is full of it 🙂