one afternoon when the light was mellow and em* looked particularly dashing, we snapped a few shots in the sunroom.
a few weeks back i was sifting through a shoebox of loose photos, and came across a few of em back when he was a little guy crowned with curls. the moment of nostalgia was spiked with the regret of how nebulous my memory is of that particular small person.
so this is em at six.
he has hair the color of creamed coffee.
his giggle, which comes easily, bubbles up from his throat in a way that makes it impossible for him to talk and sometimes results in hiccups.
he's a maven at memorizing bible verses.
he makes an awfully cute groundhog in his kindergarten spring play.
he shares his jellybeans with the boy in church who needed a friend.
he knows no stranger. em walks into a room and expects the world to find him adorable.
he's my third child, wedged in a spot that makes him easy to overlook, and i feel a visceral ache when i realize he's striving for my attention and i haven't really heard him.
em is little, but sprouting up like bamboo, and i aim to know and treasure him at every height. my dear, sweet child: you are so precious to me.
asterisk: i did not actually name my son em. this is the phonetic spelling of the first letter of his name: M. there now, i'm not quite as odd as you'd thought.
addendum to the asterisk: so the votes are in, and i extend the warmest of thanks to everyone who affirmed my oddness in the comment section below. i am all about intriguing people, and i fully own that i am like seventeen brands of odd. i'm just not odd enough to name my sons bee, zee, and em. this is all i'm saying, folks.
You’re an A+
6 hours ago