It’s a curious paradox that Wilkie, our most placid of babies, was born on the stormiest of nights. Thunder and lightening lit up our bedroom the entire night as I lay there admiring our new little boy. It was the start of a very dramatic rainy season to follow. Someday I’m sure we’ll see the meaning in all of it.
As the rain belted down for days on end, we curled up in our house and snuggled our baby boy. The dreary and dramatic weather made the baby bubble inside that much cosier. There was a dreaminess, a slowness, a nowhere-to-be-ness that was felt the minute you entered the house. With my mom and sister here, there were nine of us snug in our little home. Mom and Meg helped with the school runs and the grocery shopping, they read books and played games with the bigger kids, and we all took turns making meals.
Every day after school the kids would rush in shouting requests to hold the baby–it’s my turn, no mine, no you had him last… The lucky one would nestle into the sofa and snuggle their baby brother while the others waited (impatiently) for their turn. There was nowhere they’d rather be and nothing they wanted to do more.
We had a Polaroid camera around that could capture an image with an instantly nostalgic air. All of the kids wanted to take a picture so they could show their classmates their new brother. Quin even rushed home one day asking if he could take another photo to show the kids in the playground down the street. He was bursting with pride.
I hoped the bubble would never end, but life has slowly returned to a familiar pace. Mom and Meg returned to Seattle (apparently they have their own lives!) and our, newly expanded family unit has found a pattern that feels like everyday life. Yet, no one is taking this little guy for granted. It’s my turn…no mine! I find myself wondering how anyone has babies without older children around to help. Long may it last!