Derek and I, who have spent the last decade working full-time with the obligatory two weeks of vacation per year, were both allowed a reprieve from the daily grind for an entire summer as we welcomed our tiny boy into the world. What a gift to be afforded this time together to batten down the hatches and focus on what’s most important. It’s a scary proposition to some couples, I’m sure. Truth be told, I had some anxiety about an entire summer with no agenda and the three of us cooped up at home with our newborn. At the end of it, we know each other—I mean REALLY know each other—and we are stronger for it. I can pre-empt an Ella meltdown, use analogy to explain a loose concept in her language, or place a pillow behind Derek's head just before he sinks back in exhaustion. The signs had been there all along, but I was too preoccupied to see them. The bond is deeper now as Derek and I finish each other’s sentences. When Carson cries for visitors, we share a knowing glance. We know a hungry cry from the one that means he needs to be held a different way. We went from being splintered housemates with our cellphones and schedules and daycare pickups, to an inward-faced circle called Family. And the beauty of it all? When this huddle formed, we opened our eyes to really look at each other for the first time in months. Imagine my relief as I found myself staring at my three favorite people on earth. I knew that as Carson got to know this crazy family he was born into, he would soon feel the same way.
There are days that I’m sure he was ready to turn around and go back from whence he came...most likely the times that my hormones and sleep deprivation left me crying alongside him until the cadence of our midnight whimpers began to align. Then there are days we introduced him to uncontrollable laughter...tenderness...love. From his swing, he watched his dad and sister act as Baloo and Mowgli, crooning the entire duet of "The Bear Necessities," complete with swinging arms and booty-wiggles. He heard Van Morrison pour through the house as my exhausted embrace from Derek evolved into a slow dance in the moonlight of our art studio. He listened as Ella learned to read. He watched me mix paint for her while explaining how to paint a summer sky.
Indeed, he’s seen us at our worst and best. He felt his sister’s hand—the one that looked so small to us a few months ago—turn his head so she could whisper nightly secrets to him, most involving a tiny sales pitch: “Daddy will make you breakfast shaped like hearts, and Mommy will rub your feet and give you backies when you get bigger,” she'd whisper under the covers. He'd stare quietly back at her, his blue eyes wide open. She'd continue, “and it will make you feel so good you’ll want to kiss them all day.”
We did it. I think he’s decided to stick around.
