One

Charlie,

About this time on this day last year, I was holding you for the first time. I can hardly remember now how little you were on that day. I do remember though that sometime before you were born, I was wondering how it was going to work, how I was going to love you and Finny at the same time. Finny had been my whole world, my whole focus—how was I going to share? The midwife told me that my love would not divide; it would multiply. She was right.

Every day since the moment you were born, that love has grown exponentially. And now, at one-year-old, you’re the best you’ve ever been and only getting better.

You’re our comedian. At the ripe old age of one, you are already working on your act. You know when you have an audience, you like it, and you aim to please. Showtime is usually meal time where your dah-dahs lead to razzberries which lead to full force head shaking. And with that frohawk of Jerry Lee Lewis curls shaking back and forth, it is entertainment. Give this boy a piano and a microphone and he will sell out shows. Goodness gracious.

You’re our independent one. You love a buddy, but you’re great at playing by yourself too, and you’ve never been much of a cuddler. Unlike your older brother, oftentimes as a baby you didn’t necessarily want to be soothed, you didn’t want your forehead rubbed, you’ve never wanted a pacifier and you didn’t necessarily care to be rocked either. Sometimes you would push me away as if to say, “Leave me alone! I can do it myself!” Classic second child.

But lately, my little independent one has wanted a bit more cuddle time. Sometimes you do just want to lay across my chest and be rocked to sleep, sometimes you do just want to be held, and often if you’ve been left to play by yourself for too long, you’ll come charging across the floor to climb my leg or you’ll “boulder” your way across the kitchen cabinets just to be close to me. I like it.

Beyond your great affection for me and your “dah-dah-dah-dah,” I love to see how much you love Finny. Three of my very favorite words these days are, “Come on, Charlie!” followed by contagious giggling. Finny is so excited by all the new things you are doing, and he’s constantly pointing out to me all the ways you are getting bigger.

“Mommy, look! Charlie is crawling! Charlie is standing! Charlie is playing with the kitchen! Mommy, Charlie can drink out of my cups now! He’s getting bigger! He’s becoming a big boy!”

Sometimes, I will find the two of you just sitting in your fort, rolling all over each other and laughing like little wolf cubs. Other times I will find Finny wrenching toys from your hands, pushing you down, kicking you, or pinning you to the ground, but I’m sure it’s making you stronger.

You’re our Bear. You are The Bearbees, The Bear, Charlie, Charlie Bear, (never Chuck). Your independence, your easygoing nature, your sense of humor and your Jerry Lee Lewis curls are all the wonderful things that make you The Bear. That, and the fact that at twelve months old, you already have man hands. I think they are bigger than Finny’s. It’s unnatural. They are more like paws than hands. If you start sprouting chest hair before you’re five, I’m going to have to do a little research into the VanHimbergen lineage, see if at some point the VanHimbergens lived in caves and caught salmon with their teeth.

We love you, Charlie. We’re so glad you came to make us laugh, to make us smile, to show us just how much our love could grow.

Happy Birthday, Bearbees.

Love,

Mommy

Man Hands:  Only a few minutes old and already your hands are the size of a twelve-year-old's!



Papa Bear, Brother Bear, and Baby Bear





The only thing bigger than your hands, is the size of your smile.  Love it.