Yes, my baby turns 28 today. I am now officially OLD.
But, I just wanted to jot down a couple of things as I remember 28 years ago.
First of all, Josh was born on a Thursday just like today. Which brings to mind the old nursery rhyme (which, of course, I googled, found, cut and paste here):
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay. I called Josh this morning and sang Happy Birthday to him. He told me that Aaron is coming up to Brewery City on Saturday and they're going to hang out. I presume that Caroline is joining them; eh, is this true?
Which brings me to another memory I have of Joshua's toddlerhood. He must have been close to four; Aaron would have been two. Aaron was still learning to talk. When he didn't have his index finger in his mouth. [Such a worried child! It's no wonder he (and I) battle our Eeyore-syndrome(!) We've talked and laughed about our taking turns being the extended-family Eeyore. I digress. Back to the story.]
Anyway, I was remembering how Aaron said "Joshie." It was with a short o-sound, not a long-o (that didn't happen until college when an Idaho gal gave Josh a whole new name). It was all "z's," soft and French-sounding: zshozshie. Make a "Shh" sound and put some "Z" into it, like "Zzh." Now, pronounce the "J" (Josh) and the "sh" (Josh) sounds pretty much the same ... and you've got two-year old Aaron's pronounciation of Joshie. So cute, so sweet, very "two-like." Sweet, sweet memories. Aaron's gonna hate me for this.
And another Joshua birthday memory (this one isn't new to him): I finagled the beginning of my labor for this about-to-be Zshozshie. Yep, I sweet-talked my then-husband into a little early-morning delight (I somehow want to say that it was AFTER eating some breakfast, but who can remember that little detail?). I was on top ... of course. And ... voila, a little percussive-time later (where in heaven's name was Caroline?), I started having regular and rhythmic contractions. All childbirth labor should start so erotically with early-morning sunlight streaming in!
Greg was, I suspect, equally surprised and proud of what he had wrought. It was about 8 in the morning. We called Aunt Ruth to come over and stay with unsuspecting, just-about-to-be-usurped two-year old Caroline.
The rest is history, as the saying goes. Save it for the next birthday, Mary. Tell the story again, Mom.
Happy Birthday, Joshua Elliott. I love you! I'm so proud to have you as my son.
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