Yesterday was not a gold star day.
I kept missing the signals.
Oh, your teeth hurt, I realized spying new white bumps sprouting after a lovely morning of irrational behavior, a one-year-old diva and miva (man-diva)…
People keep telling me to wait. Don’t rush things! they say in regards to you walking and talking. They forewarn how my life will change.
–“Your life will change!”–
I know, I say in response. And I do. You guys are still only “not really” walking, cruising around, letting go and teeter-tottering a few steps until you realize, I’m walking!, and drop down to your knees scared.
But then I think, wouldn’t it be nice when unloading you guys from the car to be able to put one of you down on the ground? You’re 26 and 23 lbs now, carrying both of you is tough. And probably borderline dangerous. Everybody up the stairs. Everybody down. Won’t it be a easier if at least one of you could walk? Just a little?
Talking, too, I know. With those greater vocabularies come those greater problems and needs. “Mommy, I’m scared.” Now that’s scary.
But it can’t be much scarier than this guessing game now.
Like yesterday, missing the signals.
…You had just gotten your foot stuck in your crib–again–Baby Boy (bumpers, mesh bumpers, nothing works) and at first I thought you were just crying because it was nap time, and its hard to keep a good man down. Then I opened the door and saw. “CRAP! Your foot!”
I scooped you up and held you in to my chest so close. We fit so nicely, like a piece of a puzzle. You smelled like strawberries. I patted your head. It’s all right…It’s all right…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I wish you could tell Mommy…I’m sorry…
Knowing what the rest of the day would be like with nap time cut short abruptly, I picked you both up.
Everybody down the stairs.
I put you into the car thinking maybe if we drove around, with the heat on, listening to Frank Sinatra (you love it, my old souls), you would drift back to sleep…
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I repeated, as I buckled you guys in and you cried, tired and confused.
I was feeling so terrible. So inadequate. Even neglectful. (It’s hard never knowing what to do.)
Before I shut your car door, Baby Boy, I swooped in with my pinky and scooped this huge, gross booger that was dangling from your nose and had to have been bothering you. Had to.
I looked at this alien thing now stuck on my finger. You guys were still crying. I looked around the garage for something to wipe it on. Nothing. Crying. I tried wiping it on the side of a garbage bag that was sticking out that from the recycling can. It wouldn’t come off. Crying. I started to fling my finger in the air. Shake my hand hard. Fling. Fling…
I turned to see you guys both watching me, open mouthed hysterically laughing.
Laughs, laughs, oh those sweet child laughs. I had to laugh, too.
“Mommy is funny,” I said.
Thank you, I needed that.
Happy Valentine’s Day.