(Corrigan with his Valentine’s Day balloons)
I knew I would not get another “Connor” when I was pregnant with Corrigan. The chances of hitting that jackpot had to be about a gajillion to one…but it is quite a shock to raise a 100% different child.
The term “all boy” is tossed around this house a lot.
I think it should be “all climbing monkey/charging bull/stubborn donkey/boy”
He has no self-preservation instinct. He doesn’t seem to “learn” that bouncing on the edge of the couch, eyes closed like a rabid bunny rabbit leads to bonked skulls.
He has fallen from the same chair ten times. He climbs things he should know by now are going to tip over…he has no regard for his safety and a high tolerance for pain.
He doesn’t care how messy, stinky or sticky something is…he wants to play in it.
He likes to sweep his hands through the piles of dog hair that I broom-sweep into piles…gross.
He will sit and run his fingers through the dirty snow melts from the bottom of people’s boots when they visit.
He will splash his hands in the toilet…even if his brother just used it and and FORGOT.TO.FLUSH.
He might even, as I came running down the hall to grab his dripping hands, chose that very moment to take his pee-soaked fingers and rub his eyes.
He isn’t moved by forceful “no’s”, swats on his bottom, swats on his hands or time-outs. He couldn’t care less about how hot something is or how sharp it might be…he wants to live his life at 156 MPH and it is frightening and hysterical at the same time.
He is clumsy and happy about it.
He is grumpy and unapologetic.
He is goofy and generous with his smiles.
He is loud and fond of the sound of his voice.
He is Corrigan.
and boy, aren’t we so lucky to have him?