my pink toes

My 2-year-old Peter is full of spunk. He wears his pirate hat to music recitals and takes his baseball mitt to bed. Here he is sporting his hat, pirate shirt, and his I-can-put-them-on-by-myself-
so-I-wear-them-every-day boots. I called him Mr. Sneakboots one day when he was playing the "take Mommy's cellphone" game and we started laughing. We decided he needed a pirate-y name when he's swashbucking, so Captain Sneakboots he became.

I love how much he throws himself into life. When we were deciding on a name, Dave really wanted the name Peter. I didn't like it the first time around (we chose Henry instead), but the second time, I loved it for some reason. Peter in the bible is such a great, passionate, all-or-nothing guy.

I wonder about names: did I "know" somehow when I was pregnant with these boys that Henry was not a Peter, and that Peter was? My Peter is so much like his biblical namesake: full of gusto and passion, quick to laugh, and so exuberant. Henry is not like that at all. Did God tell me that Peter was the right name for this bundle of boy-ness who kicked me so hard in utero that it knocked the wind out of me on a regular basis?

Regardless of how it came about, his name fits him perfectly.