James Henry Patrick Ferrell, born October 7, 2010, after 37 hours of labor. Ya’ll, I’m not even gonna lie. I watched The Business of Being Born before I had him and went into that delivery room a week and a half over due with a birth plan. A ridiculously ambition birth plan. Not everything in it was as pretentious as it seemed. I mean, it’s not like I asked them to save the placenta so we could plant it under a tree or anything. It was just simple stuff like breast only, no pacifiers, gentle soothing music played during labor, no one but the parents allowed in the room at any time, blah blah blah. I can’t even read the whole thing now without cringing so hard internally.
Now that I’m on kid # 4, it’s like I’m practically on OBGYN at this point, and they pretty much just come right on out on their own, birth plan or not. We don’t need no stinking birth plan at this stage in the game.
So, back to this kid.This is Hank. He’s 5 going on 30 and has the sweetest old soul I ever did see.
He also really likes gravy biscuits.
He really loves the beach. Who doesn’t? He’s been making trips to some of our favorite spots since he was a whole 4 months old. Many major milestones have been reached by the gulf.
He loves his daddy something fierce. The two of them just seem to get each other in a way this mama isn’t able.
When Hank started talking, he never used the word ‘to.’ He used ‘the’ every time he should have used to, so he would say things like “I got the go poop” and we fell even more in love with him because of it. Pat especially loves asking all of us in public if we have the poop.
Hank thinks the food in the house comes from the grewcery store and could listen to musgick all day every day.
I get a little aggressive when people try to correct him. He’ll figure it out one day. Leave that boy alone. For now, the kids know we go to the grewcery store most Mondays, and every day at nap, we turn on the musgick to help us fall asleep. It’s what we do.
Right before Hank turned two, he started noticing fire trucks. It started out like most other kid fascinations with sirens and the like, but once he discovered Fireman Sam on Netflix, he was all in. His 2nd birthday was at the fire station, and we have an app about fire trucks from around the world that he loves. He’s still got the fever, all these years later.
Now, this may seem a little silly, but the Feral Ferrells are wild enough without caffine. They don’t drink soft drinks unless it’s their birthday or we’re at the beach. I know. You probably just rolled your eyes. Like, who the crap does she think she is with that no Coke rule? I’m so glad you asked.
I think they’ll be faced with enough poor choices in their sweet little lives that I don’t have to add another one in the mix to trip them up. Plus, I aint about that meltdown over not getting what you want. Making a Coke a special treat has worked for us. I’m not preaching for you to do it also, I’m just saying.
So when it’s getting close to Hank’s party, he makes sure we don’t forget the tiny Cokes. He’s pretty funny to watch with one. He smells it and savors it and knows it’s special. It’s why “so&so brought a Dr Pepper for breakfast today! Why can’t I ever do that?” has never been asked in our house. He knows when he can have a Coke, and breakfast is not it.
He also rarely misses nap. Like, no nap club means witching hour is out of control at our house and might result in a child being put in the dog crate on accident or something. We don’t miss nap.He’s the best at being a big brother. Until he’s not. He makes sure everyone has what they need, always wants to bring them each a sticker from the Doctors Office, and misses them something awful when they aren’t around.
Unless you mess with his stuff. Then he acts like a big brother. I could totally keep going about our cool first kid, but I’ll spare you. He’s a thinker, that boy. And getting to see his mind working as he gets older is a privilege. Except when he insists on finding out the answer to where Chicken eggs come from. He knows “from chickens” but can’t wrap his mind around how some can be eggs you eat and some can be new chickens. Then I’m all like “go ask your daddy.”