To Alex, Who is Six

Oh, my little guy. I loved the way that you came into the world. You woke me about 6am, letting me know with that quirky little, funny little, something's-amiss-here little feeling. That today-was-the-day kind of feeling. We not only stayed home, you and I, we also stayed in bed. Almost my whole labor I laid down, listened to a great tape (yes, tape) that your Daddy made for me (The Labor Mix) while Daddy counted the minutes. And at some point in there, minutes gone by, hours gone by, he whispered - "they're 1 1/2 minutes apart." You were on your way.

If it wasn't for your Dad being so stubborn about not wanting to deliver the baby himself, at home, completely unprepared, I wouldn't have moved. (Jeez.)

And about 45 minutes later, in the hospital, you came shooting out, leaving me sideways on the bed, yelling. And the first thing I said was, "Ric, remind me that I DON'T want to do this again!" (More on that later.)

The best was that you were a boy. A brother. And then we were four.

You have been a shining light in my life. You may cry too much, whine that life's not fair, and I think you wrote the book on dawdling. But when you smile and me and snuggle up close, you are the best. I hope that you always stay true to yourself- a little bit spacey, a lot out-of-the-box, and so very, very loving. You are my favorite second-born kid of all time.

I love you, Alex. Happy Birthday chicken head.