"I've never heard that come out of him before."
It was a heady mix of yearning and impatience. Come closer, the scream demanded, solve everything for me. Right now. I buried my face into his chubby warm neck. Snuggled into it. Heavenly joy of baby.
Already there are hints of a burgeoning toddler. He howls differently if a toy is out of reach, slams his tiny fists when the phone is taken away. And the few times I've said a firm NO, his lip quivered, the prelude to a cry so endearing, so delightful, I'd chance saying it again.
Who will I be without a baby on my hip? How could these last four-ish years have the power to define me this succinctly, when I lived a lifetime of days before?
And yesterday I attended the final orientation for the upcoming schoolyear. I sat anxious, my stomach tight, diligently noting all that would need to be done.
- Buy a proper lunchbox
- Get a coat he can zip up himself
- Stop allowing the soother!!
- Teach him how to wipe himself on the toilet
- And for God's sake teach him to write his name
Clean the kitchen again.
Re-wash.
Re-fold.
I listen to Deaglan's crackling-voiced lispy stories. Like when he told me last night that his head hurt.
"Mommy, I think there is pickle juice in there."
"Oh yeah? Is pickle juice good?"
"No Mommy, pickle juice goes through you and gives you a headache."
Huh. Similar to Shiraz?
And today, while he watched movies as I worked from home and kept the thermometer and Tylenol close by he gazed over at me and said,
"Mommy I sure do like your pretty shirt." And I looked down at my popsicle stained dingy oversized old tank top, smiled at this child, a gift I can't remember earning, and said,
"I love you too sweetheart."
