My youngest boy is a contradictory mess of emotions lately. It's making my head whirl, trying to keep up with him. Last week we trekked to my husband's Midwestern hometown to celebrate Thanksgiving with his parents and older brother. We knew our older boys would be thrilled to see family; after all, they excitedly reminded us for weeks prior to the visit. We expected Littlest to revel in it as well: a fun change of scenery, different toys, and did I mention snuggles? There would be snuggles galore.
Instead, he was rather cranky most of the time. Was it the large crowd of relatives clamoring to pinch his cheeks at every turn? Sleeping in a Pack and Play rather than his crib? Teething? Pumpkin pie overload? Toddler angst?
Now that we are back home, he's returned to his typical routine but is still a bit more grumpy than his usual self. He blesses me with a moment of respite as I lay him down for a nap, drawing his face into a very serious expression, pursing his lips and daring me with those huge, dark eyes to make him smile. All it takes is a tickle under the chin and he'll clutch at his blankets breathlessly, giggling and rolling away to escape. He rewards me with a winning grin as I back out of the room, singing my good-byes.
I'm still his favorite person, the one who can always get him to calm down, the one he never refuses to be held by. I wonder how long it will be before his wings unfurl tentatively when he realizes I am unnecessary in many things. Already his oldest brother responds laboriously to my pronouncements of love ("I love you, too, Mooooooom"), sounding more 14 than 4. His second-oldest brother usually runs from the room when I request a hug; pursuit results in him wailing while I give him a lightning-quick embrace.
They rip my heart out sometimes.
Their innocence flees more rapidly than I anticipated. Their independence grows and is welcome... but it's bittersweet. Wasn't it just yesterday that my sweet Gabriel was scooting along on the hardwood floor toward the Christmas tree, reaching with his chubby fingers to grab at the branches? And now he stretches up up up past my waist, asking me where the Presidential helicopters are as we drive around in the early morning hours only to explain in answer to his own question that they are in "the building" where they'll remain dry until they're needed. I can hear him explaining even more things at night to his brother while they snuggle under their blankets... He explains and Eli says, "Ohhhhhhhhhhh," and they'll talk like that until they fall asleep.
I fret over the occasional sassy response, but for every one of those, there are delicious moments of blessed childishness. They race their bikes down the sidewalk toward the park in the early evening hours, only to forget the promise of slides and swings when they come upon a house decorated for Christmas. They wave at the inflated Santas. They grow giddy when cocoa is mentioned. They praise me for the simple snowflakes I cut out and marvel at them where they hang as if I created works of art.
It reminds me that there is nothing to fret over, unless I'd like to spend futile hours worrying about the pesky passage of time that I am powerless to stop. For now, they are still my boys, my little men.
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