It was an early Sunday evening when I discovered the gentleness between my eldest and his little not-so-much-a-baby-anymore sister. I was about six months pregnant and the three of us had returned home from church (Boy at the hospital working call shift—so typical). I was worn out—again, typical—so I plopped them on the couch for some TV time as I scurried away in the kitchen to prepare something simple enough for us to eat. A short while later, or at least it felt that way to me, I called for them to come as I was placing dishes onto the table. No answer. I looked across the kitchen and my eyes met with those of my little boy, still sitting on the couch with a blonde wispy head resting on his shoulder, who calmly whispered, "Shhh, Mom. Be quiet. Indy's sleeping." He had his left arm curved around her, while the other tenderly held her sleepy hand. I watched him lovingly stroke it as she breathed deeply into dreamland. For a then three-year-old who was known in our family for his sibling bossiness and an excited boyish aggression that cannot be tamed, my heart swelled up at the unexpected.
Nine months was not enough time to capture the last moments of their sweet twosome-ness.
Summer...
Fall...
Winter...
Spring...
Three months later, our spring Easter chick came. Two kids turned into three and we became a party of five. Gentle fingers are not very common around the Tot because baby-sized body parts are just too scrumptious not to squeeze and excitement takes over—I get it. Still, their baby brother gets plenty of loving touches and a whole lot of inclusiveness.
The transition to another little person in the house was welcomed with open arms. For me, it got better. And it is still.
It's a good thing three is not a crowd. I think we'll keep him.
.JPG)
