Declan has just got me lately. Does that make sense? Probably not.
But I look at him, his skinny little body, his hair hanging just over his eyebrows, his goofy little grin with his tiny white teeth and I just want to squeeze him. He's going through something now and maybe that's what has me in this place. He's sensitive as it is. Extremely sensitive, and always has been. But now he has new fears, new worries, new interests. When I lay down with him at night, he asks me no less than fifteen times: "any monsters, any scary people in here mommy?" And I can't shake my head 'no,' can't mumble 'un-uh.' It has to be a loud and clear, solid "No. You are safe here, Declan. Don't worry." He is a worrier. It tugs on my heart pretty bad. I don't want him to worry. He is carefree though, and that balances him. He loves to get lost in his toys, in creating new things, in cooking. He loves to be read to, he loves to play in water and in sand. He loves "just mommmy time" or "just daddy time." He told me tonight, while I was putting him to bed, "you the beautiful girl ever in the world." And then he smiled and bore holes into my eyes, with his. I looked at him and told him that he was the sweetest boy in the world and tried to explain to him how much I love him. It is nearly impossible to explain. One day he will know.
Isabella started a new ballet class at a new dance studio tonight. She wasn't feeling great today, hadn't napped, and was pretty tired but beyond excited. She was having major angst over her ballet shoes not fitting exactly right. After her class we tried to buy some from the studio, but they didn't have her size. This led to a mega meltdown on her part, and major embarrassment on mine. I have never, in my four and half years of being a mom, had one of my kids melt down in public like she did. I'm not sure if it was mild or extreme, but to me, it was not good. She wanted ballet shoes then. Not tomorrow, not next week, right at that very moment. And in her four year old brain, she was unable to accept that they just did not have her size. It was hard. For her and for me maybe more.
But seeing her in that class, listening to the instructions, following them to a tee and trying so hard to make it all look just right, I realize a lot about her. She needs it all to flow. She needs to feel comfortable: as in, if her shoe has a bump in it...it very well may be the end of the world. She is confident, she is secure and she is so extremely dedicated. Right now, her life is dancing. Our days work around it, she loves doing it, she wants it, she dreams about it, and she does it well. When I watch her tiny pink covered body flitting across snowflakes on the floor, my heart swells. Once, because she's growing up. That's it. She is just growing up. And twice, because she is doing what she loves. Ballet makes her happy, really happy. And in turn, nothing makes me happier.
Quinn thinks she is three. When she was barely one, she definitly acted two. At a new one and a half, she thinks she is fully capable of acting like and doing what the older two are doing. And when I let her up at the table during preschool this morning, handed her the watercolors that she was screaming for and watched her start to paint, I was astonished. When Quinn, did you stop being a baby? Then, she dabbed her brush in paint, laid her left hand on the table, and started painting her fingernails. Yes, she did. Then after each one, she held it up to show us "Yah! Look!" There is no shortage of pride in that girls emotions. She plays hide and seek with them now. She is on their heels at the drop of a hat. I love it, like really, really love it. But she's a kid now. Still loves to be held, still loves to nurse and hug. But she's one of them. They were playing outside today and they wanted to 'race.' I came off the porch to give them the 'ready, set, go' and there was Quinn, lined up right beside them, knees bent, hands on her thighs. I almost fell over. So I laughed, yelled "ready, set...." and Quinn yelled "GO!" And they were off.
Fuzzy, go figure. But she may be your manicurist (is that a word?) one day....
Be still, my heart.
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