-˜Chicky’ is the nickname I’ve given my youngest for two reasons.  First, his beautiful furry hair sticks up like a fluffy spring chicken and the predictive text on my phone came up with Checo when I typed his name, so it morphed easily.  He absolutely loves his name.

Chicky has decided that being the younger sibling is no longer a place to stand back in the dark and obey his brother Beau.  Oh no.  All of a sudden, this shadow man who follows his brother around, mimics him and frolics in tandem with him, has decided to sprout his own little personality wings.

Last weekend I was in Woolworths picking up some supplies with the mini men and arrived at the checkout.  I stood there speechless as mini man, hands cupped under his smiling chin, lent onto the register and said Hello!  I’m Chicky to the checkout guy.  The man roared laughing and chatted happily with my son.  Beau was busy wrapping himself around my leg shyly and I was laughing hard at my little man introducing himself to complete strangers.

On the way to the park to view the koi fish on Sunday morning, Chicky and I were holding hands walking up the street. Beau was slightly behind me and he called out to tell us something.  Chicky and I looked back at the same time to check what Beau was up to and at that moment my little man crashed into the sign post, head first.

He let out a scream and sat on my knee as I bent down to scoop him up.  His bottom lip was turned inside out and his bristly-lashed eyes were squeezing out large tears.

I carried him the rest of the way to comfort him and get some extra cuddles in. I’m always cuddling the boys because perhaps soon they will want fewer and fewer and when they are big, I sure won’t be able to pick them up.  I can’t imagine them as big teenagers.

That night, after a full day of parks, swings, seesaws, toasted sandwiches, painting and DVDs, the men sat up at the table for dinner.

Beau admonished Chicky for chewing his food so loudly.  I’ve let him off for the time being, as the poor little man can’t seem to breathe well -” he’s having his tonsils and adenoids out next month.  I put him to bed and lay next to him. We rubbed noses and he went off to sleep.  During the night I lay with him for a moment and heard him stop breathing momentarily, another symptom that his pending removals will relieve.

I carried Beau into the operating theatre when it was his turn a year ago. I’ll do the same for Chicky.  Their dear little anxious faces, looking at all the lights and instruments, clinging onto their dad not to let go. The faint whiff of chocolate-scented sleeping gas and he will drift off faster than I can lean down and leave a kiss on his little face.

Maybe this time, Chicky will hold court with all the doctors and nurses before being wheeled in, oblivious to his anxious parent. For my feisty little man, anything is possible.

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