BIG BOYS! Time for baths! Or showers. Whichever. Leo and Gus, you’re up. Boys let’s go!
I leaned against the opening to the bathroom. And waited. But there was no movement as far as I could tell. No feet on the hardwood heading my way. Neither boy had stirred. BOYS! I sighed. I didn’t want to be yelling. Lord knows this house is small enough. I shouldn’t have to yell.
And yet someone was close by. I felt a tug on the hem of my shirt. Yank. Yank.
One more yank. One more yank. One more yaaaaaank.
I looked down. I looked around my belly.
I a big boy too he said.
I a big boy too. For goodness sake those words disappeared into my head and I let them wreck me some.
Oh Ozzie. You’re big. You are big. You’re not big. You’re not big at all. You’re my baby. You want me to lump you in with your brothers? You’re my baby.
But I told him You’re big! You are. You’re getting bigger. I picked him up and perched him on my bump in front. Took the opportunity to remind him that soon enough he’d be trying out new things (psssst like the potty. dude the potty is so cool. wanna try it? huh? huh? huh?) and getting bigger and bigger. Just like his brothers.
I think he believed me. At least I got him giggling. No more somber eyes.
Did I believe me though?
Every day that passes, Cupcake becomes a little bit realer to me. For as much as I’ve prepared and continue to prepare for birth, I know there’ll come a moment when I’ll be in the pool, squatting, sinking down into time and space and everything, willingly losing myself contraction after contraction–and when I come to the surface in between I’ll have that thought: I’m really doing this again. Another human is coming…out.
And in those next few birth-filled moments every dynamic my family knows will change. Especially for Oscar. His baby status will be gone and gone forever. Instantly he’ll loom giant-like and hulking next to that itty newborn.
So yes, Oscar’s right in a way. He is acting big(ger) these days. He’s articulate. He’s got ‘tude. He plays games. He hangs out with his sibs over me when they’re home. I mean he IS two and a half and I know yesthathalfcounts. Mostly I’m amused that at two and a half he’s cluing ME in to the changes going on.
It’s me who’s left standing, leaning against the opening to the bathroom wondering why doesn’t real become REAL until it’s REALLY REAL? Me picking up discarded clothing and wet towels and embracing and begrudging change all at once.
Wondering how in the world Oscar’s readier for real than I am.