by Nita Frazier

Created on: July 10, 2010   Last Updated: July 11, 2010

Dear Jude - Bo.

When your mother was in her first pregnancy, she announced that she and your dad had picked out the name Jude for the baby.

I thought it was a terrible name for a baby. I loved the song, "Hey, Jude!" the signature song of my generation. I like Jude Law movies. But the name, Jude didn't fit my idea of a little boy's name. I was so relieved when we found out Mom was carrying a girl. I wouldn't have to force myself to like that dreaded name.

Mom changed one letter and named my first grandchild Jade. Mom quickly became pregnant again with you. You showed up 364 days after your sister. Jade was born on April 11, 2006; you on April,10, 2007. There was no reprieve this time. You got the name - Jude Anthony.

When introduced to you that first day in the hospital, Jade, dominant promptly said. "That not brother, that Bo."

So, you became Bo. An unexpected, but so welcomed, reprieve from Jude.

Mom has decided that until the two of you are in school, there will be only one birthday party each year. That  isn't fair to either one of you, but easier on mom.

I revived a custom I did with your mother and her brother. I spend one on one time with you on April 10th. Jade is not allowed to join. Likewise, on her day, you are not allowed in.

Overshadowed and overwhelmed by Jade, you became my warrior child: quick to frown, quick to yell a forceful, “No!” With fists and sharp kicks you fought your way out of your sister's bright light.

Jade is consistently sunny, always smiling. A smooth pane of glass.

You are thunder and lightning, with a sandstorm thrown in to keep everyone on their toes.

Life with you will never be dull.

Your visits are nonstop activity filled with lots of car races, building things and exploring boxes.

I don't have time to miss you when you're gone; I'm too busy finding things: the goldfish cracker canister in the hall closet, the crochet needles in the potty chair, the blue plastic letter B from your busy box floating in the aquarium. By the way, the bathtub stopper is still missing.

We both had to accept the name Jude, when you entered day care.

I forced myself to call you Jude. You answered, “I not Jude, I Bo.”

You showed your displeasure at the name change by talking back to the teachers, hitting the other children and kicking furniture.

After a week of time-outs and a long talks  with your parents and with me, you agreed to stop yelling and kicking. “I a good boy,” you said as you curled in my lap for a rocking session.

You are a good boy caught in a single-parent home and shadowed by a dominant older sister.

You are finding your way. I'm confident that you will emerge with strong values and a sweet personality. You ARE sweet when you're smiling and your fists are open.

I hope we'll have many years of cars, books, and friendly arguments.

You will grow into the name, Jude, but you will always be my Bo.

I love your fierce scowls, your defiant, “No!” I even love the occasional “you goad (past tense of “go”) away.”

Love,

Me Maw.

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