Sometimes I don't think about writing. When life gets hard, as it often does with two boys under 5, as it often does with all of us, I don't write. I stress. I eat. I punish myself. I vow to be better- to do better. I set myself aflame. I try re-birth.
Then, when I am the middle of a place I can only call "trying to survive", my Wyatt shakes me up and does something that reminds me that this moment I am in needs not be more than what it is. The moment when you: Stop, Listen, and Breathe, you see yourself and your life through bigger glasses. Or, maybe you are able to take off the maginfying glasses? No matter. It is existencial.
I had the opportunity to sit completely uninterupted with my 4 year old tonight. Do you want to know what we talked about? Of course you do. Who wouldn't? We talked about being a first born, naturally. We talked about first loves, naturally. We talked about making people feel important, naturally.
Wyatt knows that he was my first born and that there can only be one first born. We talked tonight about how Daddy, Mommy and Wyatt are all first borns.
"I am your first born and your first love, right?" he asked.
"Of course." I replied.
He beamed.
"Jack Jack is your second born, huh?" he smirked.
"Yes, but I love my first born and my second born the same." I want him to feel special, but the golden child syndrome is a sneaky one.
"I came in the mail, right?"
Really? Who feeds him this?
"No. And that makes me sad that you say that. Because I made you a really nice home in my tummy. I made it extra cozy for you to grow in. You were not in some cold mailbox. I made you." I pray he realizes that he wasn't mail order.
"Yeah. And I wasn't mean to you. I didn't scratch you. I was so cozy in there and I was praying."
There he goes again with the praying. This kid is uber-spiritual.
"You were so cozy in there and super polite. You had a great time swimming and dancing, not scratching. What were you praying for?"
"For you." He points at me with a gun gesture, so very sauve.
"Really?"
"Yeah and for Daddy. Guess who I came out looking like? You (insert more gun gesture here)."
"Wow. Really? Like me? Not Daddy, like everyone in the entire world suggested?"
"Nope. Like you wif long long hair."
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Later we discussed not paying attention while someone was talking because you were engrossed in that show that both your daddy and my ex-boyfriend used to watch. The one with the Japanese fighters and a lot of drama and no fighting, just the promise of a fight next episode. Why is my life punctuated with this same show? I demonstrated how it was to try to talk to someone while this show was on. It goes like this:
"So there I was the other day in line at the grocery st.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................What? What did you say?
"At the store and I was buying the day old bread and it looked a little gr.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Wyatt kept trying to get my attention, and I stared fixated at the TV. He patted my shoulder.
"Mommy. What about the bread? What color was it?"
I explained that this is what he does to me everytime a show comes on. I asked him how that made him feel.
"Really sad," he replied as he hugged me.
We talked/hugged it out. I think he gets it. He is very intuative.
So tonight I realized that I am connecting. I am making a difference in my kid's lives. It sounds stupid, really. Sometimes you don't feel like you do much but play maid and martyr. Tonight, when he talked to me, he used my inflection and my gestures. He used my words. Nothing in the world could have made me happier tonight than seeing myself in him. The parts I like. The parts that aren't running out of the preschool front door and acting all crazy town, like we first borns like to do.
