Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Little Prince

The image of Prince Harry sitting beside his big brother, Prince William, in the backseat of a Rolls Royce on their way to William's royal wedding was captivating. I was 12 weeks pregnant and all of a sudden, as I watched the two princes share an intimate moment, albeit in front of the world, it hit me. I knew I was carrying another boy.

The TV commentator mentioned that Princess Diana's sons have always and will always have each other to celebrate life's triumphs and to help handle life's greatest tragedies.

It was an unforgettable sentiment and image. Harry, with his devilish grin, appeared to be whispering dirty jokes to his more composed big brother, perhaps helping William shake off pre-wedding jitters. William was calm and regal, waving gratuitously to the millions of people who lined the car's route to wish him well.

My eyes watered watching the brothers.  My two year old son was going to have a little brother.  Forever.

An ultrasound a few weeks later confirmed my suspicion. It was a boy!

"We need to hit the gym hard," my husband insisted, grinning, right there in the ultrasound room.
(Because, in case you were unaware, two boys can run you into the ground, spike your blood pressure, and even kill you before they reach the age of 3). "Yes, we need to get in shape, seriously."

Despite the fear of our imminent switch from zone defense to man-to-man coverage, we were ecstatic over the thought of having another boy.  You see, expecting a second boy is phenomenal when you have baby boy clothes overflowing from every nook of your house and car and purse. It is equally cool to have a second boy when you have toy vehicles overflowing from every nook of your home, car, purse, even rain boots.

The challenging part of having a second boy is having double the boy energy tearing through your home, car, purse, rain boots, even sanity. But, that boy energy is equally amazing. (If they could bottle it and sell it in nursing homes, the elderly would be slamming down their walkers, head-butting one another, and running to the kitchen to demand a "SNACK! And not fruit!")

My second little prince was born one year ago today.  His brother asked when the baby was "goin' home" the first few weeks of his life.  He thought, hoped, that the baby belonged to the baby nurse who was staying at our house, helping us care for him. But slowly, my son started to warm up to his baby brother.  He began to talk to him in the sweetest baby voice, kiss him, tell him he smelled like french fries and the like.

On the other hand, there were many moments in the past year when my two princes were vying for court jester and not behaving in a manner of which the "Queen" approved. There were escapades rivaling Prince Harry's scandalous rendezvous in Vegas and there were raucous nights stretching way past bedtime at the palace.

Most of all, in this marathon year of diapers and time-outs and diapers and poop on the floor and diapers and bottles and diapers and teething and diapers and crawling and diapers and crying and diapers . . . . there has been an indescribable amount of love overflowing from our home, thanks to our two little princes.

Wherever their paths take them, knowing that my two boys have each other along for the journey brings peace to my soul. The best gift we could ever give to our big prince and to our little prince, today on his birthday, is something they each already have: a brother.

(Just pray for us that they don't both turn out to be "Prince Harrys.")