On spirit, stubbornness, and raising a child who already knows how to roar
Holden officially turned a year and a half last week — 18 months already. He is growing by the minute, and with that growth, his personality is blossoming too.
I still remember the night he was born. It somehow feels like both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. I find that to be true of many things in life — especially the good ones. Time is funny like that. And it keeps getting funnier the older I get.
I remember cuddling a newborn Holden and thinking, he is perfect. I couldn’t imagine ever getting mad at him, or him ever walking or talking. I couldn’t picture him with teeth, opinions, or a personality all his own — and yet here we are. All the things I once couldn’t imagine have come to be.
He is my wild one.
Where Caleb is calm and gentle, Holden is bold and spirited. He looks just like me — but with more sass, more fire, and more opinions than I ever dared to express at that age. Still just a baby, and already blazing his own trail. He’s the kind of child who could grow into a man that sets the world on fire — not with destruction, but with purpose. He could move mountains. Lead rallies. Change the world. I know we all say these things about our children, but I believe it. If Caleb changes the world through kindness, Holden will do it with sheer will.
I often say that if Holden had been our first, he would’ve been our only. His tantrums are epic. He vibrates with frustration. He swats at you if he wants what you’re eating. He says so much — so much — without knowing a single word.
I remember how small he seemed that night in the hospital, born two weeks early and not even a full seven pounds. “My tiny guy,” I called him, marveling at his miniature features. He barely cried, barely made a peep. I thought proudly, we’ve got another gentle one.
That idea didn’t last long.
As soon as he stepped into himself — into his voice, his will, his big, bold feelings — it became clear just how loud his presence would be. Caleb taught me to soften. Holden is teaching me to stand up, to speak out, to go after things with everything I’ve got. And yes, right now the “things” he wants are usually bites of cake or sips of juice that don’t belong to him — but he wants them fiercely.
Nothing he does is gentle.
He gets angry when he doesn’t get what he wants — or even if he does, but not fast enough. He stares you down as he swipes every item off the table, one tiny hand in motion. He laughs while he does it, because he knows better. He just doesn’t care. And no, I don’t want him to be “bad” — but I admire the certainty I see in his eyes, which look so much like mine.
He burst into our quiet little family and flipped the whole rhythm upside down. And maybe that’s what we needed. Maybe we weren’t meant to exist so quietly after all. Maybe he’s here to teach us how to be louder. Braver. More
He’s a megaphone. A spark with no fuse.
He’s mine. And sometimes, I still don’t know how.
He is my wild child.
Where I am quiet, he is loud.
Where I am hesitant, he is sure.
Where I tiptoe, he storms in.
He’s nothing like me — and yet, he’s someone I want to be like.
So to my wild one: don’t ever let this world dim your flame. Don’t shrink, don’t soften, don’t hold your voice in your throat. I don’t know how to teach you these things — I’m still learning them myself — but they’re already in you. You are born bold.
You may look like me...
…but I want to be just like you.
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