I've always felt lucky in the baby I brought into the world more than 7 years ago. He's strong, resilient, and kind (not to mention his good looks and excellent sense of humor). And this week, as we ended summer and returned to the regularly scheduled programming that is school, I've felt particularly lucky in this boy of mine. That's all the more surprising because my 7 year old returned to school with a broken leg, no small hurdle to manage.
Fittingly for a child whose first name is Jefferson, my boy has a strong independent streak. It was evident from the moment he was born and, with the exception of his early opposition to the taking of naps, it's been a terrific blessing. He walked at 9 months and talked at 12 and has been unstoppable ever since, taking care of himself and looking out for me along the way. And the broken leg provides another case in point: when the doc in the ER said that JT would be wearing a leg cast for 10 weeks, the first thing that JT asked me was, "how will I do my chores?" That there is a good kid.
In the past 7 days, he has learned to walk on crutches (with a grace and speed that is impressive), figured out how to get up and down the stairs, gotten himself to and from the bathroom (and that isn't as easy as you might think when you have a big cast), and learned again how to dress himself, this time with a left leg out of commission. This morning, he used his crutch to grab his shoe, slide it across the living room, and then put it on the good foot. Though he can't run outside or ride his bike (two of his most favorite things), he's not engaged in a pity party (I would have thrown a big one if it was me). He's an impressive figure, this boy of mine.
I've always felt lucky to have him. But the broken leg proves it: when I gave birth to Jefferson Taylor, it was a jackpot.