It's been too long now since I've seen my 'big baby' nephew, and saying I miss him just doesn't do it justice.
I remember the day he was born; where I was, what was happening, who I was with, and how none of the shitty stuff I had been going through mattered the moment I got the got announcement of his birth via text and saw his face for the first time in the picture attachment. It hadn't mattered that I was arguing with my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had had broken up only ten days before about the ring he gave me when we were together. And it hadn't mattered that I had spent the night in the bottom bunk of my best friend's house, awake and ripe with countless anxieties rolling through me. The small towheaded child who had been in the world scant minutes, changed everything for me.
This will probably sound weird and I'm not entirely sure how to put this...
But once he was born, my entire perspective changed. And it was because there was now this little person with the family nose and the sweetest face, who shared my blood and my name. Immediately I wanted to combat the entire world because it had the potential to hurt him. I wanted to fight the would be bullies and tell off the less than compassionate teachers; I wanted to threaten the women or men he would someday fall in love with, just so they knew to be careful with his precious heart.
And when I held him for the first time? Those feelings were multiplied by the thousands.
Watching him grow for the last five years has been one of the best pleasures of my entire life. He was once this colicky bundle, of good and bad baby everything and I loved to watch him fall asleep in my arms. And what I loved more than that, was watching him wake up and smile this new-baby grin that said, 'hey, you're vaguely familiar... hi, thanks for keeping me warm!'
And now, he truly lives up to the nickname I gave him at one month old: Hayden Monster. In his spare time, he has his mom spray paint his hair red and blue; he races around the living room with tissue boxes on his feet and he sometimes refers to his little brother as 'my sister, Tony.' His favorite and best obsession is Disney's Cars, though if you put anything remotely cartoonish on, he'll sit still for a total of an hour. If you're lucky. He more often than not sports temporary tattoos, and is probably the coolest kindergartener that has ever existed on the planet. I'm not biased or anything, of course.
This is the same little boy, who even though he's almost as tall as his old 'Annie Molly,' will beg me to pick him up and carry him-- because he knows I'm a sucker for those big blue eyes and that mischievous little smile. He's the one who doesn't understand the difference between facial piercings and the dreaded 'booboo' and strikes a deal: if I kiss your booboo (random piercing), you'll kiss mine (any random assortment of scrapes)!
And even though it annoys the ever living shit out of me, he is the one who will bang on my double doors at 8am each morning, after I've had barely any sleep, so that I will come and play with him. Or more aptly put: feed him breakfast and watch cartoons, and then turn on the video games (Mario Racing is his favorite)... so I can watch him play, because I'm apparently not as good as uncle Jon. But even so, I'm the one he wakes up and wants to spend his time with while the rest of the house is asleep.
To his chagrin, occasionally on those mornings when I haven't had enough sleep, I will feed him breakfast and while we watch cartoons, I will eventually drift back into my rest... while cuddling him so fiercely, he has no choice but lay back down with me.
He is a terror to take out shopping. Or to restaurants. Or any establishment with other people while I'm otherwise occupied. He flirts constantly with every little girl he sees and isn't shy one bit about it, either. When he doesn't get his way, he knows how to throw the most magnificent tantrums. That is, until I sit him in front of mirror so he can see how ridiculous he's being and he starts laughing hysterically. He bites because he knows it hurts, but then he'll wrap his arms around my neck to tell me I'm his favorite and apart of his 'gang'. And sometimes, even when he gets what he asks for, he isn't happy.
In no way, shape, or form do I envy young mothers, or single parents. Having him to myself for more than a few days is nerve wrecking and all I want is some 'adult' time. But I love hearing his laugh and I love hearing his stories of adventure. Nothing makes me happier than when I pick up the phone and it's his voice at the other end, begging me to come visit or to come live with him, or to come get him so he can live with me.
I miss my Monster so much, there aren't words that really describe it.
All I know is that someday, he'll be sixteen (just like I was when he was born) and I hope beyond hope, that he doesn't think he's too grown up to be kissed and hugged by his silly Annie Molly.
