Years have passed and I can say with quite a bit of certainty that Friday night was the last time I will rock my littlest baby to sleep. His big brothers were off camping Zach so it was just him and I at home. We'd had the absolute simplest, yet most fun afternoon together. We went to the bookstore where he picked out one book that he wanted and left without any fits or begging for more things. Then we went inside a gas station for a drink and donuts. I offered to take him to a different park, but he opted for the one in our neighborhood. All these tiny, little simple things, seem like a trip to Disney World when you have not done literally anything for nearly a third of your life at this point. He just kept saying "this is so FUN Mamma!" It was the most refreshing afternoon followed by a movie, popcorn, and cuddles on the couch in the evening before we attempted to go to sleep.
He was in and out of his room multiple times and I do think he fell asleep briefly, but an hour or so later he came out crying, he said "There no brothers in there and I'm scared." He let me actually cuddle him, with his now very large head on my shoulder while his long legs were draped over the side of the chair. I sang all the songs, most of which I hadn't sung in months and gave all the pats. In that moment the thought popped into my head, I bet this is the last time. This is the last time I'll feel his breath slow and even out as my sweet little boy fell asleep on my shoulder.
How can this be? After a decade of rocking and singing and patting, how can that chapter be closing? To be very clear that chapter was hard. That chapter was exhausting. That chapter, while in the middle of it, seemed never ending. There were nights I would have paid good money to just say "good night," and not have to cuddle, pat, sing, and rock. But there were a lot of nights, when I was exhausted and feeling like I just wanted to go to bed that I reminded myself that this chapter, the one with the rocking, the singing, and the patting, this chapter was actually my favorite and that it would be over soon. In the middle of it I knew that there would be a day that I would wish, just as strongly as I was wishing for sleep then, that I could have one more night to rock a baby to sleep, just one more night.
So I rocked my blond headed, forty two inch tall, forty pound, three and a half year old to sleep. Then somehow managed to stand up with his giant body and put him in his bed. I tiptoed out of the room, stepping over piles of super hero costumes, with tears welling up in my eyes. That chapter has come to a close. It's hard when the very first chapter is your favorite. So far the following chapters have been much harder for me. It's a different kind of hard and a kind that I know nothing about. I feel that sense of overwhelming dread you feel right before you have your first child. When you have no idea what you're doing, but people are about to send you home with an infant. That's what I'm feeling now. How am I responsible for these humans? You're planning on trusting me, the baby person, with pre-teen and teenage boys? What? That seems unsafe and a real bad idea. What am I supposed to do with these school age children who argue, fight, and lie? I am wholeheartedly unqualified. Is there a class that teaches me how to do this?
It's terrifying and people look at you, ten years into parenting, and are like, "well they are you're children, you know them best, you know what they need." To which I say, "but do I?" These are important, these years are hard, these years have lifelong consequences. These years are all locked into their memories. Why can't they remember all the fun toddler outings we had? None of the part I was good at will they remember. It's a lot, but here we are. Here we are a good ways into the school age chapter and I'm definitely still feeling lost, while the preteen/teenage chapter is painfully close now too.
All this to say, I'm glad I realized it was the last time. I am glad that I am soaking up every joyous moment of Thatcher being three. The last trip through all the fun things is really turning out to be an amazing blessing. I remember three as a complete nightmare with the other two, but when you're so far removed from the last three year old you had, and when you know it's your last time going through it, it is just wonderful. I will take a three year old standoff over something stupid, that I can solve by taking away a Batman costume, over my ten year old screaming at me about homework or my seven year old blatantly lying to my face any day of the week. I will answer your random, super obvious three year old questions, that you literally ask all day, over fourth or second grade English, ALL DAY! It is an absolute joy.
T and I spent the weekend at the farm with Able and his kids. Thatcher finds everything exciting, every leaf, every stick, every spider, every single thing was so fun to him. The first time he went and had Grandma swing him was just as fun as the twentieth time he went swinging. The fourth time he ran on the hay bales was just as exciting as the first. He literally looked at the creek and made up things that lived in it for ten minutes. He listened to the bugs and asked me if I thought they were happy. He talked to the cows, he picked up sticks, he chased the chickens, and petted the cats. He gathered the eggs and it was an absolutely thrilling adventure. He and Alice were the big kids for a day and in the absence of his brothers Thatcher's little personality and voice could shine right through. It was an absolute joy to that time with him. It's the biggest blessing to still have the opportunity to see the world through a three year old's eyes amid all of the chaos in the world right now. I highly recommend everyone do it some time if they can.
