First things first: I’m sorry for telling you to leave your homework on the table for Mommy to check after she makes dinner, actually, hold on, after she gives your sister some butternut squash, oh wait, after she fetches your brother some rice so he won’t “help” by climbing into the fridge to get it himself.
When you were already in class this morning, I saw the homework still sitting there, unchecked.
I’m also sorry for the less-than-yummy dinner I made last night. I forgot to add a whole cup of water to the Instant Pot so the pasta came out crunchy, while I told you guys to eat up.
I’m sorry for always asking you to get something for me these days – “Micah, plug in the tree. Micah, grab me the wipes. Micah can you make sure your sister doesn’t roll onto the floor?” While it’s imperative for everyone, young and old, to pitch in, I do wonder if I ask of you the most. You, your dad, and I are all firstborns so we get it.
I’m still thinking about your doctor appointment on Saturday, when you were seen for your seven year-old wellness exam at the same time as Olive’s six month exam. I was so happy to score one appointment for two kids. Your brother got to spend a bit of special time with Daddy.
You were such a bashful baby and toddler, offering up all your toys to any little one who came near you, even before they asked for a toy, while I was like, dag, you got to be able to handle confrontations, boy, especially as a minority! Stand your ground. Use your words. Don’t let entitled moms and kids alike come and grab your thangs out of your hands.
So it’s fascinating to watch you speak directly to adults in recent years, like when the doctor asked about Olive, and you became her little papa. You made me recall that I always daydreamed about having a big bro or two, a big bro who would play basketball with his friends and come home for some Sunny D and then one of his cute friends would notice me in the kitchen with a big island and boojie fridge, but I digress.
When the doctor was asking ME about what Olive is able to do, you answered, “Yes, she’s able to recognize faces. She knows me. Yeah, she is starting to say lots of stuff. She can say vowels AND consonants. We started giving her rice and oatmeal cereal. She likes it. Yes, she can hold toys with both hands.”
And when it came time for her many shots and I braced myself needlessly, as she was my least crying baby yet, you suddenly appeared between me and Olive, having squirreled your way in. At first, I was annoyed: “Micah, you got to give me space! Where did you even come from, Flash?”
You mostly spoke to Olive in response as you pet her cheeks, “I have to see her! It’s gonna be okay, girl. Look at me. Look at me. Don’t be scared.”
I laughed. “She doesn’t even know what’s about to go down right now.”
As we walked home, with Olive succumbing to sleep in the Snap N Go that is already too snug for her, and you karate-chopping the air and jumping from tree root to tree root, I was struck by how the seemingly mundane life of a mom is full of miracles.
I get to witness my fetuses turn into puppy-like morsels, and morsels into full humans that grow, transform, and blossom, like my babbling, rolly six month old to my newly minted seven year old jack-o-lantern with a missing top tooth at this double doctor appointment in December.
I’m excited to see you after school and do some Advent activities tonight. The Tooth Fairy must be busy this holiday season – her ETA is some time this week, I heard. Thank you for being a super big bro to Olive, and to Ellis, too (most of the time).