Gator

Spen.

Where to even start with this kid?

Spen was not a planned baby. Ok, let’s be honest, NONE of my babies were planned. Which isn’t to say I wasn’t happy to get them all, it’s just that I’ve never had the opportunity to say, "Hey, you know, I think it’s about time we had a baby." It’s always been more like "Holy crap, you’re never going to believe this. Somebody else wants into this crazy family!!"

Spen was born at a time of, shall we say, upheaval. The three big kids and I were living with my parents. My dad thinks that since Spen was born while we lived under his roof, possession is totally nine tenths of the law forever. Little Spen brought so much love and happiness to our home at a time when we really, really, REALLY needed it. My mom likes to say that he saved us all, and I tend to agree.

He started sleeping through the night at just five weeks old, because I had to go back to work then and he was being nice. Spen could throw a ball better than I can by the time he was 18 months old. Sometimes I forget how curly his hair used to be and how hard it was to cut it the first time, just in case the curls didn’t come back. They didn’t.

We’re big on cuddling over here, but Spen is the Master of All Cuddles. I love when he climbs in my bed early, early in the morning for One Minute of Loves before I have to go to work. I love when he barrels across the living room at full speed, throwing himself against my legs for a Welcome Home Love when I walk in the door.

When Spen was really tiny, we used to sing "Jet Plane" to get him to sleep. His father and I both did it, without knowing the other was doing it too, since we live in separate houses. Pretty soon, no matter what time of day it was, you could start singing that song and Spen would get that thousand-yard stare and his head would start to bob. Sometimes he still asks me to sing to him, and I hope he still will for a very, very long time. Like until he goes to college.

Even though he’s never lived with his father full-time, Spen loves his daddy. I love how Spen lights up when he hears his dad’s truck in the driveway and how he hangs on Rich’s neck like a monkey. It was Rich who gave him the nickname "Spen" instead of "Spence."

Spen loves his stuffed dogs (all four of them), Diego, his Grandpa B, and pretending he's a ninja. He's figured out how to milk being the baby for all it's worth, while still managing to get included as a big kid when it suits him.

Far and away, this kid is the pickiest eater of the bunch. Even Abby would eventually put food in her mouth, even if she gagged and squawked like crazy. Not so with Spen. He just plain refuses. Being the completely competent mother that I am, I am totally mystified in the face of such blatant disregard for my requests. What do you do when a kid just says no? There's no negotiating. No punishment matters. He'll ask 4,763 times for a treat, a mere 10 nanoseconds after NOT finishing (or starting, for that matter) his dinner. He has no shame. He does not GET the treat, but thus far, that has not dissuaded him from asking.

I realize, in looking around at my neighbors' five-year-old kids, that Spen is very much the baby. I don't know how to fix that. And I'm kind of bipolar about wanting to anyway. I know I think he's brilliant for knowing things that Zach knew when he was 2. I know I'm not objective at all. But I pretty much don't care.

Spen has the qualities that will make him a great husband someday. He's affectionate, he's playful, he's strong, he's tender and he can charm the pants off nearly anyone. Hopefully he won't use that last one until he actually becomes a husband.

We love you, Spen-a-gator. Happy Birthday!