It has become something of a family legend: his mother Amp went into sudden, hard labor at 5 p.m. on a busy Friday night in West Los Angeles. The drive to the hospital in cross town rush hour traffic was tortuous. A medical team awaited her arrival in the hospital parking lot. But Henry bided his time, not making an appearance until nearly 3 a.m. on June 30, 2012. That was the last time he caused any family tumult.
It would be hard to find a more charming, agreeable, good-natured child. He is affable and outgoing. He never has tantrums -- even during grueling 17 hour flights back and forth between his family's homes in Bangkok and Los Angeles. His father started a new job in Thailand last fall and since then, the family has lived in a high rise condo in the heart of the city, visiting Los Angeles only occasionally.
Wherever in the world he finds himself, Henry goes with the flow, enjoying cloud gazing with his loving Dad from the time he was only two months old, smiling when his mother sings to him or when his father reads him a story. He loves exploring, seeing new places, meeting new people. During a recent visit to Los Angeles, he strolled around a mall play area, greeting and shaking hands with all the watchful and astonished mothers of other toddlers there.
He regards his bright, beautiful but more tightly-wound sister Maggie with amusement, laughing when she has a tantrum. But, more often, he looks up to her, trailing her wherever she goes, wanting to be as strong and competent as she is. And so he walked -- and ran -- by the time he was 7 months old.
Henry's developmental landmarks -- like stranger anxiety -- are fleeting and low key. Instead of hiding from or crying at the sight of a stranger, Henry stares them down, sizes them up and then welcomes them to his world.