Benjy in the Middle

Four years ago we had a choice.  We held in our arms a beautiful baby boy who needed a name.  Our choices, as presented by a very opinionated three-year-old Jacob, were Spongebob, Chicken Little or Benjy.  As you all know, we picked Benjy (spelled with a y as to not be confused with the dog) but officially christened him Benjamin Lee.  Now we only call him Benjamin when he's in trouble, as he told me this week, because he emphatically insists his name is Benjy.  And so it is.

Four years old.  Where has the time gone?

At one, he was a happy baby, slow to anger and easy to please.

At two, he was challenging, always running away and eager to find mischief.

At three, he was my sweet boy, cautious and shy, complimentary and empathetic to everyone except Jacob.  Big brothers have a way of bringing out the worst in someone.  I know.  I have one.

And at four, well, we'll just have to see.  

Here's a glimpse at my shy, bright boy's personality.  Don't tell him I was talking about him or he'll hide under the table.  Or worse, he'll give us all the dirty look.

Loves to dress up.  Hates to wear pants.

Willing to play almost anything Jacob suggests, as long as no one's watching.  Tango anyone?

Camera shy, but willing to pose for his mom.

Masks give him courage.

Loved his Batman piñata so much that he danced around the house with him and even kissed him on the lips. In the end, though, he still wanted to beat him with a stick.  Kiss of Judas?

Happy Birthday Benjy!