That La Kid

wishin' an' hopin'!


on August 12, 2016

As I lay here on my stomach, watching the Olympics, editing Monkey’s baby registry and feeling her somersaults, I can’t help but think about how much everything will change. How much it already has. We’re a family of four. This is real. This is really happening. Crazy. I’m one who doesn’t much care for change. I actually hate it. I like our 3 Musketeers team.  But, listen to old Rafiki, “Change is good.” I wanted to get pregnant so bad.  I tried so hard for this baby.  And this week, for the first time since I saw that blue line, I have a distinctly uncharacteristic lack of anxiety. It feels good. I like not being tied up in knots.

So, last night Bruce was running amok pushing his own kid-sized cart in the grocery store. I had already told him to stop being crazy. He is so sweet when he’s in trouble. He immediately recoils and says, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry ’bout that.” (And actually when we got home, he said, “I’m sorry I was acting crazy in the store.” OMG: consider my heart melted.) Anyway, instead of another stern scolding, I asked him if he was going to get his bananas or what. It was so crazy. He immediately shaped up. “Oh. Yeah!” I think I’m on to something with this doling out the responsibility stuff.

Bruce just went down for a nap in his new big boy bed. I really thought he would resent being kicked out of his room to make way for baby, but he’s handling it like a champ! He loves his big boy room! We are decorating it with a vintage airplane theme. I still have lots to clean up, and some artwork to hang. And the closet is still full of my American Girl furniture.  My poor little guy. He never did have a fully themed finished nursery. I’ve got to get better.

He’s big into Legos these days but still loves his trains. He’s been flipping through last year’s Thomas the Tank Engine catalog picking out birthday presents for himself. (Most of which I’ve added to his Amazon Wish List, by the way.)  I wonder if he likes playing with them as much as he likes shopping for them.  When he doesn’t clean up his trains and tracks, I threaten to give them to kids who don’t have any trains. He usually squeals, “nooooo!” and puts them away.  Today, thumbing through the catalog, he told me that maybe we’ll give these tracks to “the other kids” and he will get new ones from his “book.”

Pretty sweet, I guess. At least in some sideways way he’s thinking of others.

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