I love you more than beans

We are celebrating my son's ninth birthday today, and I'm finding myself especially reflective on what a cool little boy my child is, and the journeys we have been on together in our relatively short time as mother and child. Our first journey was of endurance, starting as soon as Alexander arrived; screaming. He continued to scream for three months, exactly. My poor baby had such a distended stomach with cholic that it looked like he had swallowed a football. I would scream for three months too if I had swallowed a football. So I soon got used to strapping the "Snuggly" on and toting my baby close to my highly sensitive, mastitis laden, leaky, swollen bosom. We'd crank some African music and pace the floor, back and forth, back and forth...jiggling all of the gas out of my little farty pants...literally.

Then we had the journeys involved in discovery; there are my toes, there is the dog's tail (again), there's the stairs, there's a magic marker, all with either frightening or entertaining results. And sometimes it was a combination of the two intertwined with sheer embarrassment. My son went through a stage where he genuinely thought he was a dog. He would drink from a bowl, walk on his hands and knees, bark, sleep on the floor, you get the picture. I knew that I had to have a talk with him though on the day that he decided to take a poop in our dog's grass patch in the back of the yard, right in front of my neighbour, who I happened to be talking to at the time. That day, my son discovered that he was no longer allowed to pretend he's a dog. Yes, we had a lot of accidental discoveries based on trial and error.

The next journey involved longing. When my baby was soon to turn three, he had to go through the chaos and trauma of a family separation. How was I supposed to walk away from my beautiful baby who I held in my arms every day, smelling his fresh skin after a bath, reading stories under the blankies, making forts out of cardboard boxes, drawing happy faces on our toes....but I knew that if I wanted my baby to truly have a healthy, happy mother, I had to go through this difficult journey. We made it through and my appreciation of time with him has been heightened because of it. Our love remains strong.

Then we had the journey of new beginnings; suddenly I'm travelling down the 105 as a single mom with my little monkey; nervous and protective, silently cursing every maniac driver on the highway that has the potential of harming my baby. Suddenly, I'm taking my son across the country on road trips, festivals, adventures, creating memories with our goofy little songs (We bastardized a song by No Doubt that goes, "Hey baby! Hey baby!" by singing, "Hay bale-bale! Hay bale-bale!" every time we saw a hay bale) and stories. We 1-2-3 DUCKed under the bridges, keep track of the road kill along the way to determine what truly is the most ridiculously stupid animal in Canada, and moo-ed at every single cow on the prairies...windows down, head sticking out mooing. We don't mess around on our adventures. We get into the journey.

Then we also had the adventure of building a new house together. How do you explain to a little gaffer that it's ok that a tractor is knocking your house over?! And how do you live in a camper trailer with a 5 year old for months at a time?(Refer back to the last paragraph about road trips...)

So along the way it became important to us that we continue to tell each other how important we are to each other as we go through these life journeys together and alone. We came up with a code, a way of categorizing the uncategorizeable; our love for each other. It started with "I love you more than the moon" and Alexander would reply that he loved me more than the stars, and so forth. We continued on this way and eventually started talking about our extensive love for each other by comparing it to our favourite foods...french toast, cinnamon buns, et al. But I knew that I had hit the mother lode the day my son proclaimed, "Mom, I love you more than beans." Let's remember, beans to a boy is fuel for hours of entertainment. Remember how my son had cholic? Well, it's because he has a crazy speedy metabolism. You know where I'm going with this. I don't even think my son likes the taste of beans. They are just a catalyst for turbulent flatulence, which is highly entertaining for a boy (and as I have discovered, men in general.) So, to be compared to something that brings fun, and endless entertainment, I guess, is flattering. I'll take that kind of love. Hey, isn't there a song out there called, "Love Stinks"? That puts a whole new spin on the title of that song, eh? I think our journeys together are very similar to a can of beans, otherwise known as a can o' whoop ass! We're having a hell of a good time.

Happy birthday, My Little Monkey. I love you too. (Toot! Toot!)