I went to bed knowing he was coming.
I woke up around 3 a.m., Sean asked why the hell none of his kids can show up at a normal hour, and off we went to the hospital. By the by, Simon was born at noon and Felix was born at just after 5 pm, so his complaint was baseless at that point in the game. I popped into L&D. I remember saying, "They're not going to believe I'm in labor because I'm talking through the contractions." I think I even giggled through a few. Alas, I was 7cm when they checked me and as soon as I stood up to walk to my room, I was no longer giggling. All the giggles were out.
My, "I think maybe I can try this without an epidural" quickly became, "Are you the anesthesia guy? Are you the anesthesia guy? You? For the love of all that is holy, YOU?!" None of those four nameless people had any drugs to give me, nor did they have time.
I checked in at 3:46 on Easter morning and our little bunny made his appearance at 4:20 a.m.
I mean, really. He is the cutest kid we've got(no worries, I tell them all that). He was the most beautiful baby. The rest of 'em looked a bit like a ham when they were born...to quote my father. :D But not Titus. Our Tito Burrito has always been a beautiful, beautiful boy.
At the ripe old age of eight, he is all boy in the sense that he makes smells and he's obnoxious with/towards/around his brothers. He is all boy in that every pair of pants he owns have busted out knees and stains that nothing invented can remove. He tells jokes that are actually funny now. He likes dogs and sticks and rocks and dirt and anything wheeled. He is eager to please and soaks in praise like a sponge. He beams under the attention of pretty much anyone. He is the most persistent kid I've ever met. His main goal in life is to have friends and be someone's friend. He is frequently the target of two of the brothers, no matter how I intervene. He is the only one who has taken an interest in the Japanese language and learning piano--mostly because those two things get him undivided attention from his father. His laugh is the greatest. He's been asking if I can have "just one more baby and hope for a girl this time, pleeeeease?" I don't know what on earth would possess him to ask other than his sweet, sweet heart and possible brain damage. I don't remember dropping him on his head as a baby, but with requests like that...I'm kidding. I would have ten more babies if, well, if a lot of things, but no. He loves Wednesdays. He forgives quickly. He believes strongly. He's holding out hope that his Aunt Niki and all of his grandparents may actually appear on his birthday. He has adjusted marvelously to this move, as he has to all six moves in his eight short years. He is an amazing, amazing kid and I am so proud to call him mine.
I can't believe this kid is eight. I can't wrap my brain around him getting into bed as a seven year old and waking up eight.
We picked his name long before he was born. We wavered a bit at the opinion of others, but he couldn't possibly be anything other than a Titus Grey. Our family verse of sorts is Titus 3:5. It was just a happy coincidence that he was boy 3, making us a family of 5.