The title of this post is usually how I order my coffee at Starbucks. Random Marci factoid.
But really, the point of this post is how I'm feeling about the final days of being a mother of one. My Charlie, who spent most of the last 3 years in the average or squatty growth percentile, compact, solid, my little meatball. He has suddenly shot up, tall like his Daddy, skinny little rib cage and string bean build. It happened overnight, or so it seems.
He started to speak in full sentences on Halloween night. It's how he rolls . . . he doesn't ease into things. He just "does it" when he's ready. (Rich is like that. I am the complete opposite. I ease into everything I do. It takes me weeks to commit to a thank you card design, for example.)
Rich and I knew we wanted kids. We didn't talk about it much when we were dating or even first married but it was this known objective. We both came from close-knit families, those kind of child/parent relationships that were more good than bad. Family, for both of us, was a centering force for us - and still is. We just knew.
And from the moment I was pregnant with Charlie, I hoped & wished for a son. I wanted a boy that reminded me of my two brothers. Who could do father-son things with Rich because Rich and his Dad are two peas in a pod. My wish was granted.
The past 3 years have had their ups and downs. Life events interrupted my picture perfect vision of motherhood. The things that I thought would come naturally (like discipline), well, haven't. A once orderly life has become chaotic and at sometimes, overwhelming.
I tried to soak it in, I really did. But I know I've fallen short of the soak-it-up goal many times. And now in the final days of being a mother-of-one, I am trying desperately to be present, attentive, to remember all these moments. Like total bed head and pjs in the morning.
Getting him dressed in the morning, strapping tennis shoes onto his little feet. Deciding that brushing his wild hair would be a waste. Sitting next to him on the couch, him cuddling up to me, watching some silly cartoon on the iPad, his little face expressing every thing he's thinking about the classic Spiderman episode. The way he sprints down the hall on weekend mornings, straight into Rich's arms, to start the day. "I had a good nap in my special bed!"
Heading out to our sidewalk four times in one night after the rain to look at a slug. Charlie reciting some story about that slug that makes no sense to us. Charlie dancing and spinning around the living room to Pumped Up Kicks every single time it comes on (and it's very overplayed right now).
It's going to be different, very soon, when the fourth Phee joins us. This single focus on Charlie will be splintered. The moments will get more chaotic, there will be need for more structure, routine. A tiny baby that needs so much so often. I'm worried that Charlie will quietly move into second fiddle. That I won't soak up as many little details as I have so far. I'm worried that I will blink and he will have grown up into this teenage boy that harbors some sort of Oldest Child resentment toward his little sister and his parents.
But I'm also fairly confident none of that will happen. I think all of our lives will be just *this much* better because of our fourth. Odd made even, more dancing, more cuddling, more laughing, more love.
Signing off, closing the laptop so I can sit next to Charlie and watch him chew his food. Because I'm weird like that.