Four!

For what seems like forever, when asked how old he is, J.P. has held up three fingers and said, "three and a half."  This morning, when I took him to breakfast at Sylvan Park on 8th Avenue (He's a V.I.P. there.  Seriously), for the first time he held up four fingers when asked how old he is.

John Patrick - my firstborn, my oldest son, the light of my life - turned four years old today.

I'm baffled, really.  How in the world did that happen?  Where did the last four years go?  How is it that this boy - this boy I held in my arms when he couldn't walk or talk, when he was a baby - how is it that  he is four years old?  I'm terribly afraid I'm going to go to sleep one night only to wake up the next morning and discover that J.P. is eight years old.  Is that how it goes?

That's been one of the more unusual things I've noticed about having another infant in the house.  When I change Joey's diapers, when I hand him to Jude so she can feed him, when I try to comfort him when he is crying - I'm immediately transported back four years ago to when J.P. was one or two months old, to when he was an infant.  It's like getting in a time machine and traveling back in time four years ago, to 2008.  Then, J.P. walks up and I snap out of my reverie, reminding myself for just an instant that Joey's Joey and J.P.'s J.P.  I'm 45, not 41 and Jude and I have two boys, not one.  Strange.

A week ago last Sunday, I walked with Joey for the first time to Bongo Java.  As I strolled him in the Baby Jogger "City Elite" up the hill on Acklen Avenue toward 12th, the waves of nostalgia that almost knocked me down were palpable.  It was so bizarre and, yet, so wonderful and amazing to be right back where I was four years ago - strolling with my son through the neighborhood on the way to Bongo Java.  Listening to a podcast (on my iPhone, of course, not my iPod, which is evidence that some things have changed).  When I rolled the "City Elite" up the ramp at Bongo Java, carefully maneuvering it (and its passenger, my son, Joey) around the Belmont students sitting at the tables on the deck, and when I expertly opened the door with one hand and backed the "City Elite" inside, it was like I had strolled back in time.  Literally, that's what it felt like.  I made that trip with J.P. what seems like a couple hundred times and there I was, making it again.

Maybe you can go home again, after all.

So here I sit, on my back porch, laptop in my lap, music playing in my ears, my sons and my wife sleeping upstairs.  It's a beautiful, beautiful night.  I ran 5 miles this morning, took J.P. to Sylvan Park for a birthday breakfast, then took him to school.  I took my family to Chago's Cantina on Belmont Boulevard tonight for a birthday dinner for J.P., then we played soccer for a few minutes on the soccer field at Belmont.  I started this post on the deck at Bongo Java, drinking a "mood elevator," and I'm finishing it at home.

And my perfect little boy, my J.P.,  turned four years old today.  I love him with all my heart.  Virtually every night since he was born, before I go to bed, I gaze down at him sleeping peacefully and ask God to keep him safe, to keep him healthy, and to allow him to wake up happy the next morning.  And as I stand over him, I thank God for blessing me, for blessing my life, with the gift of this precious child.

I think I'll slip upstairs right now, as a matter of fact, and look in on him.

Happy 4th birthday, J.P.  You're the son I always dreamed I would have and I love you.