Speedball Tucker

Today is Harry's 2nd Birthday. Happy Birthday little boy. I'm starting to tear up just thinking what a joy you are.

You're not talking much, maybe only 30 words. Your communication is still mainly the grunts of baby boyhood, but your intonation is perfect. My favorite is "yes, m'am!", a sing-songy, "Hmm, Hmmm!" It seems you've decided to channel your energies into learning what you can do with your body. You amaze us with your ability to zoom down the sidewalk on the plasma car, not unaware that you're too young to do what the big boys in the neighborhood do. Jim Croce's Speedball Tucker always comes to mind. That mastered, lately you've been experimenting with bikes w/training wheels, hopping on and doing your best, as if it's nothing. Big boy.

Your Aunt Keri was saying today how much you look like the quintessential Victorian cherub baby, and it's true. That curly blonde hair, clear blue eyes, rosy cheeks, baby chub. You're adorable. You being both angel baby and Speedball Tucker is a little odd, but there it is.

Actually, the more I think of it, that combination is perfectly you. You are an angel baby - you're snuggly and sweet, freely doling out the hugs and kisses, but you are in no way a pushover. Older kids think they can grab your toy because you're "just a baby", but as soon as they do, they know they're in trouble. You'll push, bite, hit, yell, whatever you need to do until they give it back. And then you go back to sucking your thumb, looking like the angel you are.

And they call me Speedball. . .Speedball Tucker
Terror of the highways
And all them other truckers
Will tell you that the boy is mad
To be drivin' a rig like that. . .

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Happy Birthday, Harry!