"Sister Baby"

Bright today, the sun high early and pushing itself everywhere. My son has also been getting up early these past few days, even before 6 a.m. Usually this gives us more time outside to adore the Scoops and Dump Trucks that are clearing the ground a few blocks away for another luxury high-rise. The precious parks that skirt our building here in lower Manhattan are already quite crowded these days, even during the week, so we mutter curses under our breath when we walk by these spots that could each bring another thousand residents or so to the neighborhood. And then we wonder whether we could afford a place there.

It's been a week since "the girls" came home, and at first my son didn't take things at all well. This is understandable, as one might well imagine finding another dedicated target of love in the house distressing for someone used to being the Center Of All Things. He's never been an aggressive child, so his frustration at her arrival and her staying didn't bubble up in headbutts or hits. Instead, everything conspired against him inside the house. Go outside and the sun and sandbox make him forget about the change; take him home and he crumples on the floor at the least resistance to his plans. And he's been sick with some sort of respiratory thing that clogs him up, which itself made for difficult sleeping and its nasty friend General Crankiness. The combination of factors turned out to be quite a cocktail, and he proved again and again why non-violent protest can be an effective means of getting what you want. For about a week he simply refused to eat any meals inside the house. Period. Put him in his chair at the table and he explodes into sobs and slurry strings of "Out please!" Pack the same food away to nibble at out on a walk and it's gone in no time.

Where, we wondered, did our lovely son go?

But then, like a fever breaking, he came back to us after about a week, reminding us why we appreciate him as we do. After a particularly bad dinner and an epic Daddy v. Son Bath and Diaper struggle, he came out of his bedroom a new--or rather old and familiar--boy. He asked for his dinner and ate every last bit of quesadilla--cheering "TEE-ah" (for tortilla) in fact, between bites. And before laying him down to sleep in his Big Bed we said goodnight to various things in his room, as we always do. At the very end I took him into our bedroom and stood above our daughter's bassinet. "Goodnight, sister baby," I said. "Goodnight, Sister Baby," he echoed softly through a smile.

From that point on, he's been fascinated by her. If you want him up on your lap, just hold the girl, and he'll make his way over. He gives her sweet pats, points out Baby's Hair, Baby's Mouth, Baby's Ear, etc. He's pure energy next to her, moving closer then away, pointing then holding back his own hands. Just over a week old, she's basically still a tight bundle of need. The difference between them now is staggering, both in size of body and self. We can't wait to see her at his age now, and to see them both come to know each other as we know they will.

So things are working out.

Oh yeah, and we bought him a little doll stroller as a gift from his sister, and he can't get enough of it. Whatever works. Right?

More later perhaps.