Seven years ago, I filled my October days by completing adoption paperwork and preparing a gender-neutral nursery for whichever baby was entrusted to us.
Six years ago, I filled my October days and nights by recovering from childbirth, muscling my way through breastfeeding, and marveling at the most extraordinary human*.
Five years ago, I filled my October by reading labels, relearning to cook in the face of multiple food allergies, laughing at my baby’s wonky crawl and adjusting to apartment living.
Four years ago, I filled my October by crying, worrying, researching and otherwise hunting for the breath that had been knocked from me when the pediatrician said, “That’s a language delay.”
Three years ago, I filled my October by watching for problems in a twice-sutured surgical site, fighting off the many shoving us toward public school special education and attending therapy no less than six times per week.
Two years ago, I filled my October by growing to love T’s preschool teachers and taking naps as Baby N wrecked first-trimester-havoc.
One year ago, I filled my October by wondering if we were pushing T too hard, chafing at the constraints of a small house and laughing at my fabulous five.
This year, I filled my October by marveling at my extraordinary humans, laughing at my fabulous five, and packing moving boxes.
My Extraordinary Humans, At Whom I Laugh:
T
I thought I was a whole person until I met T. Holding him for the first time six years ago I felt more alive, more capable of love, prettier, smarter, calmer, altogether more “me” than I ever had before. It’s the same today. I am the best expression of myself when I am holding my son.
What’s really amazing, is T seems to have that effect on many people. Those who pour their hearts and knowledge and energy into him get it returned to them many times over. The place this is easiest to see is school. I cried on the last day of preschool last spring, dreading the leap to elementary school. By some mysterious mystery, some blessed blessing, T has had a flawless transition to kindergarten. Not everyone knows him yet, but those that do, love him and work hard to keep him safe and push him towards excellence. Getting to watch other people love my son is such a gift.
So, the update on T is he’s doing great. He loves school; school loves him. He isn’t always impressed with my lunch-making-skills, though. The first week of school he informed his teacher that the snap peas I sent were actually trash.
Big N
My refining fire, this boy continues to grow into the most unexpected keeper of zeal. He loves dinosaurs, his best friend, war, cooking, sharks, his stuffed bear, baseball, God, history, family, and extra sharp cheddar. He is still homeschooled, because he is flourishing. He plays rec-league soccer and baseball; this winter he’ll add on basketball. He’s as cute as can be, even while pushing every button I possess.
AB
My girl. She loves purple, kitties and going to preschool. She regularly points out other students and says, “That’s my best friend!” Her teacher is T’s very first teacher, so I know she’s in good hands. She has discovered the thrill of headbands. AB prefers tutus and her brother’s old yellow rain boots. She is wild, compassionate, silly, smart, argumentative and tender. She knows that being strong is great and can be found flexing as often as she twirls.
Baby N
This boy has reached the age of absolute bliss. My favorite age range is 15-18 months. Baby N fills my days with laughter, hugs and raspberries as he explores his world. His run, mischievous eyes, laugh, destructive intrigue, blankie toting, words and babbles are the things that dreams are made of. Hollywood has no fairytale as magnificent as the one I’m living as I parent this stinker.
Packing Moving Boxes:
Whoop Whoop! Yes, you read that right! No more chafing at a small house that I can’t decorate to make my own. We are, after five years here, going to have our own home. I’ve been trying to hold off dancing until we close. I think one of the first things I’ll do when we get the keys is cut a rug in that new space. And pour out prayers of gratitude. Then, actually cut that rug. Because it’s lovely, but carpet and children who eat aren’t a good combination.
Bonus update:
My man, while still being infuriatingly man-ish, is marvelous. He’s in a job where he can be fully himself. The kids rush out the door to greet him everyday. His wife finds his laugh lines charming and his muscles exquisite.
*My husband peeked over my shoulder and provided unrequested editorial advice. He felt that my statement excluded all others and had hurtful implications to the other kids (and him.) One of the more astounding parts of being a parent is being able to see and know each one as my very best, yet not my only. T really is the most extraordinary. And so are his siblings. They take turns being the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, the funniest person I’ve ever met and the one kid I would pick to be mine if I had the whole world to choose from. Just this morning I stopped and stared in the face of the most enchanting child I’ve ever met, absorbed in her beauty, captivated. So. I’m ignoring the editor.
copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.
Me: Guys, sit at the end of the bed so I can get your picture together.
Them:
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