That was my awesome French. The Maven may be a freak, but she is a cultured freak.

Freaks who mate with Geeks produce freaky geeks, which is not a very nice way to describe my children. Instead, I pleasantly refer to them as gremlins. It sounds so much more loving, doesn't it? It flows off the tongue and floats lightly in the air like the scent of flowers on a spring day.

I just puked a little in my mouth saying that.

It should stand to reasong that I am feeling a bit emotional right now as today is Gutsy's sixth birthday. Remember him? He's the one who thinks his big brother should shut his piehole. He's a boy after his mother's heart with those sweet words.

I always tell the gremz that I love them all differently. That's the politically correct term usually applied by parents to say they prefer one of their kids over the rest, but surprisingly that's not what I mean.

I love Intrepid because he's the first. Firstborns are always amazing without ever having to do anything special. I know, because I'm a first. I'm also an alcoholic and drug addict, I'm horrifically fat, I procreated at nineteen with a baby daddy who wore leather and had purple hair, I'm so liberal my conservative mother has to take Benadryl just to be in the same room as me... and yet I'm unexplicably adored. The only reason for this is that I'm the first. Isn't that amazing? Intrepid is a fantastic child in his own right (all my doing, of course) but he doesn't even have to be. He could pretty much suck as a human being and still be the apple (or maple fudge) of my eye.

I love Spawnling because he's the baby. He's also really cute and chatty and funny, but none of that matters. He will always be our baby and thus will be coddled and smothered his entire life. He will never be able to take a bus alone, stay over at anyone's house or, heaven forbid, grow any pubic hair. He's a baby forever and ever and that's why mommy loves him.

So where does Gutsy fit in? Not the first and not the last, but the middle child. What's so special about being in the middle, anyway? Not much, to be honest. In terms of birth rank that is definitely the short straw. So, to compensate, Gutsy decided he would make his birth as miraculous as the first by making sure I didn't get pregnant for a very long time. For those of you who don't understand the birds and the bees (shame on your parents), I shall explain what happened:

*~*~*

Once upon a time there was a magical kingdom filled with princesses. They lived in Castle Ovarium. Once every twenty-eight days a princess would be chosen to leave the castle and travel into the magical world of Fallopia. There, she would meet a white-tailed knight for a blind date. If all went well, they would travel down to Las Uteras, find a 24 hour chapel and get married. It was the way things had been done for many years, and the way it was intended to be for years to come. Every princess sat anxiously in the castle and eagerly awaited her turn.

Every princess but one.

One day, a beautiful princess named Gutserella was summoned to leave the castle walls. A wreath of may flowers was created for her and a special dress picked out by her chambermaid. Her steed was saddled up and waiting in the courtyard. Her grand moment had come.

"I'm not going," said a stubborn Gutserella.

"But, you must!" replied the chambermaid. "Sir Spermalot will be here in a few hours. There's not much time, my lady!"

"No. I'm playing Webkinz! I almost have enough money to get my dog a lawnmower!"

"Do you not want to meet your prince in shining armour? You must go now. You game can wait."

"No it can't! This is a limited edition item and it's only offered this week. I can't leave now. I can't! I WON'T! I DON'T WANT TO AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" screeched Gutserella while pounding her fists on the desk.

The chambermaid was quiet for a moment. "... I hear he has a great personality."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! He'll never be as special as this lawnmower!!!"

It took over four years for Gutserella to finish playing Webkinz. Thankfully the knight was very patient.

THE END.

*~*~*

And that is how children are made.

Wait. No. Hang on. That's how children who come from PCOS resulting in secondary infertility are made.

And that's how Gutsy was made.

I love him because he's always been the little princess. He's like that rock star who goes on late because it creates a stir. He was conceived when he wanted to be, of that I have no doubt. And he arrived with flare; with a gush of water so intense you'd think the Hoover dam exploded in the family room (and in the bathroom, and in the computer room, and later on in the hospital...). He wrapped his little umbilical cord so tightly around himself that they had to cut him out, and he screamed the mightiest scream at the injustice of being halfway out of his warm womb.

He had the biggest cheeks I'd ever seen; so big, in fact, that I feared the weight of them might pinch his nose shut when he would lay on his side. So big that I secretly hoped they wouldn't stay because they were sort of funny looking. (When a mother says that you know it's bad. We're supposed to think our newborns look perfect.)

While Intrepid and Spawnling are so similar in many ways, Gutsy has carved his own path in life. Intrepid writes stories, Spawnling listens to the stories and Gutsy draws up plans for the giant robot he intends to build over the winter in our basement. You can't tell him he won't be able to do it. He simply won't believe you. You are wrong.

He will not do something if he doesn't want to do it. He'll throw a tantrum for an hour and then do it, but only because he's tired of throwing a tantrum and suddenly the thing you asked him to do seems more appealing. He'll eat vegetarian 99% of the time and yet tell everyone who listens that he's not a vegetarian. That's so punk. He's a rebel and the chicks are going to dig that. I figure if his rebellion consists of finding Big Mac containers in his car I will count my blessings.

The Sister and Chemgineer watched Spawnling and Intrepid (in other words they played Rock Band and ate pizza, which honestly sounds like the best night of my life) while Geekster and I took our often overlooked middle child out for a special birthday. He took forever dressing and undressing his new stuffed friend at Build-A-Bear. I felt like I was in the Village People dressing room. First the thing was a police officer, then a soldier. Finally he decided on a moose with light up Christmas antlers who's dressed in a karate outfit.

He called him KARATE, despite our bests efforts to redirect him.

Originality is not his strong point, ok?

Happy birthday, Mr. Gutsy. You're six and amazing and I love you so much. Thank you for being a diva princess, a Barbie-loather, a karate-moose fan and a stubborn old goat who dreams of giant robots. You keep my life interesting. I used to be sad when I thought about how hard it was to get you here. That stopped a long time ago. What's there to be sad about? In the end you are here, and we're all better for it. Every tear and every pain was worth it because in the end, we have you.

Special you.

Somewhere deep in Fallopia they're throwing a kick ass party right now.

(Photo credit: The Sister, who I'm starting to believe is now 'the talented one'. Good thing I'm firstborn or I might feel a wee threatened.)