My Sweet Boy

Last night I crawled into Henry's bed while he was sleeping. He shifted in slumber and inadvertently wrapped an arm around my neck. So I did the only thing I could possibly do and just cried and cried.

It's not that I was particularly unhappy. In fact, I've felt better overall the past few weeks than I have felt almost since the beginning of the pregnancy (last week's stomach flu not included). I haven't had a headache in over two weeks - prior to this, the longest I had gone since June was four days. I've been less depressed, probably because of the distraction of Christmas preparations and the fact that the delivery date is now only seven weeks away. I've been sleeping a little bit better.

So I'm not sure what triggered my emotions, but lying there with his soft head inches from mine, the mutterings of a dream on his lips, I was just so filled with love and fear that I couldn't help crying. I never cease to be amazed at his healthiness. Almost as amazing to me is his grasp of happiness. Not that he doesn't have his moments (and the last week has actually been rather challenging, with a lot of mood swings, tears, and defiance), but his general temperament is one of joy in being alive. He wakes up happy and goes to bed happy. He's been growing at a rapid pace over the past month or so, physically and emotionally. His desire to understand the world has led to some conversations I wasn't quite prepared to have ("Mommy, how does God make us?" "Do you think that's really true that Jesus is in heaven with God?" "How many babies are you going to have?"). His conversational skills are so impressive I often forget he's only four and doesn't need an encylopedia entry for an answer.

I guess some of my tears were for the changes I know are coming for him when this baby arrives. I have no doubt that he is going to be a terrific brother. I know he will relish being looked up to, providing an example, teaching his baby brother things, and no longer being the only one in the house getting told what to do. But there's also no doubt it's going to be a big emotional adjustment for him, since he's had four years as the "only." I sense a slipping away of a protective film that has coated his little life, as he knew exactly where he fit in to our family, and by extension, the world. I know it's a protection that never lasts for any child, and I know it's an important growing opportunity for him. But I still feel bittersweet about it. I feel like I'm hiding something from him by not letting him know how tumultuous those first few months are going to be -- but how could I? I could no more prepare myself for it before having him than I could possibly explain what's coming to a four year old. He'll rise to the occasion, of course. But in the meantime, I find myself holding on to him, physicially and emotionally, more and more as these days count down, appreciating his goofy sense of humor, his unflagging energy, his pride in all the new things he can do on his own, and the innocent joy with which he shares all of it with me.

Christmas Memories in the Making

Last weekend Henry and I went to see The Nutcracker. He really enjoyed it, though he got a bit squirmy at the end during the Waltz of the Flowers and the endless (from a four-year old's eyes) pas de deux. I am hoping it can be a new Christmas tradition for the two of us. I loved seeing it as a child, and was in it (as was Matthew) one year, but I wasn't sure if he would be into it.

Watching it and remembering my own childhood memories of the Christmas season got me thinking about our own family's traditions. It's hard for me to believe, but this is Henry's fourth Christmas, so it occurred to me that over these years we may have come up with some traditions of our own. In addition to the familiar ornaments and decorations I know he will come to recognize over the years, I know that he already looks forward to unpacking the Hallmark piano-playing snowman we received from my aunt a few years ago. And for the past two years we have bought our Christmas tree at the neighborhod sale to benefit our branch library -- that seems like a worthy tradition in the making. This year I decided to start what I hope will be some new ones. We're wrapping presents in kraft paper and Henry gets to decorate the outsides with Christmas stamps. We finally got an advent calendar, with reusable stickers so he can count down to the big day. We went to Mandeville for the Christmas parade and tree lighting in front of Pa and Dellie's house on the lafefront. And we've been watching lots and lots of Christmas movies, everything from Mickey's Christmas Carol to the Grinch Stole Christmas, Elf, and Frosty the Snowman. Last night, after our day trip to Mandeville, I turned on It's a Wonderful Life. I was fully prepared for him to be bored stiff, but he was riveted and the two of us (Matthew had a wedding) stayed up late watching it, curled up under a blanket on the sofa. I had to explain why I was crying at the end -- it gets me every year.

This past week we had a surprise that I doubt will become a tradition but that I hope he'll rememebr for a long time -- snow! Henry woke me up about an hour before he was supposed to go to school, saying, "Mommy, wake up, it's snowing!" I couldn't believe it and was expecting to see that drizzly pathetic frozen rain they sometimes call "wintry mix" down here. But no -- there were actually big, fluffy white flakes drifting down over the houses and cars and flowers. At first they melted as soon as they touched ground, but by schooltime they were falling thick and starting to stick and Matthew and Henry even made snowballs. I sort of wish we had kept him home from school, but there was still some stuck to the windshields in the afternoon and he made the tiniest snowman in history when he got home. I ran inside to get his mittens and hat -- we only use them once a year so it's not like we have them hanging by the door or anything -- whipped up some hot chocolate, and took pictures of Henry and Matthew chasing each other with snowballs. It felt odd, kind of like we were suddenly Yankees...but wonderful.

We had another event that I'm hoping he may not remember -- on another morning this week, I awoke to Matthew shouting, "Fuck!" This not being something we say often in our house anymore, I jumped out of bed. "What happened?" I asked. With big eyes, Henry said, "The tree fell down THREE TIMES and all your ornaments are broken, Mommy." Luckily, it wasn't quite that bad, but our tree was looking rather forlorn for the rest of the day -- propped against the wall, lights askew, half the ornaments missing and the others scattered in pieces on the floor, it looked like she'd been partying hard and was just waking up with a terrible hangover and asking apologetically, "Did...I do all that?"