A Rare Bird

7 years ago, when Greyson was a baby, I vividly remember sitting with him under the huge tree in our front yard. It was a hot July, but Greyson never minded the heat. I sat against the tree with my knees up and laid my baby boy on my V-shaped lap, facing me. His eyes were ever-fixed upward, gazing steadily at the tree branches and the sky. And his ears listened intently, ever so intently, to the birds overhead.

I never fully noticed the glorious symphony of bird sounds until Greyson arrived and showed me.

This boy was hyper-alert from the moment he was born, on a Friday morning in our bedroom. (That home birth is another story for another day. A wonderful, scary, heart-bursting story that proves Dani deserves to be nominated for sainthood. But I slightly digress.)

Our baby boy noticed everything. From that very first moment of daylight, he voraciously took it all in. And when we were outside, he gazed upward in a way that made me notice, finally notice, how much was going on above us. A constant wild medley of songs, emanating from the world’s overhead P.A. system.

Babies notice these things. Their thoughts are not crowded with distractions, their ears are not filled with earbuds, their eyes are not angled toward tiny screens. They notice the world itself, with all of its splendid sights and sounds.

Greyson noticed the birds in particular, and he made me notice the birds in particular.

Two years later, our boy developed a more specific interest in birds. Three years later, that interest became a fascination. And seven years later, it has developed into a full-um-*cough*-fledged prowess in the bird realm. An ornithological obsession that makes him, I assume, the East coast’s preeminent 7-year-old avian expert.

Or he will be in about an hour. No need to rush things. For now, Greyson is still, just barely, our 6-year-old bird boy.

He is sweet, smart, and silly. He has his head in the clouds. He adores his sister and his mama. He loves nature adventures, including hiking and wading in creeks and discovering new parks. He carries a stuffed bird with him to each of those adventures. He reads bird and animal encyclopedias like they’re going out of style. He loves playing around with words, and making up new ones. He is innocent and very imaginative and very, very goofy.

Greyson was, and always will be, our miracle boy. His conception defied the odds. And his beautiful, offbeat soul defies description.

I am so profoundly glad that this boy exists, and that we get to show him the world. He injects my heart with love and wonder. He reminds me daily of what is simple and what is true and what is beautiful.

Greyson is our grace son. He fills our world with grace.

And goofy observations. And giddy laughter.

And birds. Just so many birds.