He Takes My Heart With Him

A Peach

Oh, I love that little boy so much! He has four teeth on the top and two on the bottom. The bottom ones are just the tiniest bit crooked, giving him the cutest smile when he grins. Which he does a lot. This little guy, who has every right to be just the crabbiest, grouchiest, leave-me-alone(!) kind of baby, is a peach. That's what we call him. A Peach.

My husband will call during the day and ask how the kids are. We'll run down the list and he'll get to Jack. "So, how's Jack?" The answer: a peach. Ready with a smile and a laugh for his siblings. Crawling down the hall, at full speed, to grab my legs, pull himself to standing, and grin up at me. Sitting on the living room floor, munching on a graham cracker with complete contentment - that's our Jack.

His hair seems to have a tint of strawberry to it, in a certain light. My husband likes to "rough it up," as he walks by, which leaves Jack with a funny, pointed tuft of hair on the crown of his head. Jack's latest thing is to pound. On his highchair tray. On the couch. On my shoulder. Even on his own head. Then, he laughs up at us, as if to say, "See how funny I am?"

When he's tired, I carry him to his crib and cuddle him in my arms. He lays his head on my shoulder and nestles into my neck. I sing him the same song, every night. "You are my Jackson, my only Jackson . . . " Then, I kiss his cheeks over and over and over, soft and gentle. And I whisper, "Good night, Jack. I love you."

When I'm making dinner, he comes crawling around the corner into the kitchen and gives me a broad grin. Then, heads to the screen door to pound at our dog, Sam, a big black lab. That's my Jack.