I'm Nick!

Way back in March, I asked Nick if he was a big boy or a baby, he simply stated, “I’m Nick,” which I thought was the best answer ever. Fast forward to today and Nick is still steadfast in his declaration of self. No matter what you might call him, he’ll quickly correct you—“No, I’m Nick.” If I call him a pet name or even comment on his appearance, like “you’re so handsome or you’re so messy,” he’ll say, “No, I’m not. I’m Nick. I’m just Nick.” Over Thanksgiving he took it up a notch and now will insist that he’s also made of Nick. I’m not really how the original conversation started, but if you ask him what his foot, belly, etc., are made of he’ll tell you they’re “made of Nick.” (This irritates Lainey to no end. She will roll her eyes, huff, and say, “no they’re NOT! They’re made of skin, blood, and bones!”)

What Lainey finds annoying, I find endearing. This boy knows he is Nick—through and through. I think about how, as he grows up, people will try to stick all kinds of tags and labels on him and how wonderful it will be if he can keep the absolute assurance that, in the end, no matter what anyone says, he is Nick.

But, my sweet boy, I do have to correct you on one thing…you are anything, but “just.”