A big brother in the making

Fletcher doesn't know he's going to be a big brother. For a kid who's never around other kids and has no concept of what siblings are, there's no way to explain what's coming, even if he did have a vast vocabulary (we really aren't sure what he does and doesn't understand of what we say to him).

But we're preparing now for changes ahead anyway. Still intending to sell our condo in favor of a house with room to grow, we bought new carpeting for all of the bedrooms. In the process, we discovered/remembered that Fletcher's crib doesn't fit through our doorways. So, since we had no choice but to disassemble/reassemble, we made a decision to set up a nursery in another room.

It's strange looking at these little bedrooms now that their purposes have changed. For years, Fletcher's room has been the nursery. Now it's just Fletcher's room, complete with toddler bed and a kind of freedom--the potential of which Fletch hasn't realized yet. When he does begin roaming the condo at any and all hours, we're in trouble.

And the spare room, once a catch-all office with our extra bed and furniture, is becoming a nursery. Two rooms, two children.

Fletcher embodies how I feel about it all. At 11:30 last night he was still running around from room to room, too excited and confused to sleep. When I finally turned off the hallway light and walked him to his brand new bed, he willingly crawled in and lay on his back looking up at the ceiling--higher above him than it used to be. I studied his face for a long moment and saw a mixture of emotions. He liked his new bed, I could see that. But he was uncertain, as well. I could hear all the questions he couldn't say: why am I sleeping here? Is this for good or just one night? Do I want to sleep here for good? What else is going to change in my room?

I kissed him on the cheek, something I couldn't do when he was in his crib. Another change. As I turned off his light, I told him that I loved him, something I always did when he was in his crib. I hope he knows that, of everything, that will never change.

so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good night

Although I love every stage so far, the first three or six months of babyhood were my favorite. I took for granted that all that hugging and holding and cuddling would last.

It used to be that after coaxing Fletcher into sleep (nursing) at nap times and bedtime, I'd need to burp him before laying him in his cradle or crib. Somewhere along the way, this small minute or two became a highlight of my day as he snuggled against me and I rocked back and forth, back and forth, occasionally singing our lullaby ("Stay Awake" from Mary Poppins) if he was having trouble falling asleep.

It was how I would say goodnight to him. It was how he would say goodnight to me. I blinked and he grew up, at least that's how it feels, and now we've lost our goodnight.

He sleeps a lot, and when he's awake he's either insanely active or pitifully tired. When it's nap time or bedtime, he wants to go straight from nursing to the crib and will cry if I try to hold him or rock him. It makes me feel less like mommy and more like a really big bottle, necessary but impersonal.

That's the only time, though. Normally he makes it very clear that he knows me and wants me around. As in all things, if you want the good you have to take the bad with it. For instance, with each amazing ability he acquires comes a whole new world of trouble he can get into.

...For instance, we may have lost our ritual goodnight, but Fletcher just learned how to wave goodbye.

From "Giving It Up For You" by Holly Brook:

Tell me what do you think of me now
That I've traded all my armor for a crown
Come on what do you do with me now
That I've taken down the mirror on the wall
And the sweet rain is ready to fall
I'm giving it up for you