I carried Luke for 9 months...in a womb that had been vacated only 3 months prior to his conception. A tired womb you could say. His labor and delivery was excruciating, short (just 2 hours start to finish) but excruciating...and my drug free body felt every second of it. I sat by his hospital bedside for days when he was 3 weeks old with RSV. I nursed him for 12 months. I've lost the sleep, cleaned the puke, wiped the butt and nose...but one look at that boy and you know he's David's. The red hair, the blue eyes, the fair skin dotted with freckles. The soft spoken word, the silent observation, the love of physical comedy and extreme sports television. His "no hurry" approach to every task, the way he walks, the way he holds his head. Even their little tushies look alike. Strangers stop us to remark on the resemblance. Friends and family have said it since day one. But no one has EVER commented on anything about that child that relates him to me. EVER.

Today as Luke's teacher approached my window during carpool pick up, I could tell she needed to talk. Luke got "yellow" today. Yellow isn't bad (that'd be red), but yellow isn't good. Luke gets "green" everyday. Not today. Today was a yellow day. Luke was too chatty. Too chatty? Too. Chatty. Luke? My Luke?

I couldn't help but laugh out loud a little. Probably not the response the teacher was hoping for. But come on, too chatty? I love it. Love it. Inappropriate amounts of talking? Talking too much? He is mine. It's about darn time.