Park Baby

Yesterday marked the first day (ever) of park-season for our house. Beckett is a busy body, as I'm sure most other little toddler boys are. He is carefree, and gets the giggles out of most anything; happiest when he has some music to dance to or some food in his mouth--really, he's an easy-to-please, Doug Heffernan kind of boy. Beckett has taken to "finding his true voice" lately. It is not yelling, shouting, saying "No," it is screaming so sharp and high pitched that only dogs should be able to hear. 


It's important to recognize your victories, big or small,  which, for me, primarily consist of keeping my "cool." After days of being worn down by THE screeching, the cool was lost. Calm "pleases" were turned into harsh imperatives. Relaxed hands were turned into clenched fists. Looking down at my son changed to leveling my face mere inches from his. All the while, my sweet toddler was giggling, not out of animosity or cruelty, but because he just loves to play and interact with most anyone in most anyway. In a single swoop it seemed as though he was out of the tub, a towel briskly wiped over his little frame, and he was put to bed; damp body, wet hair. I told him I loved him but that This, has got to stop and that I was at the end. As I walked out, I heard him blow me a kiss. 


The door was shut and I was too irritated my "157 Days Without A Freakout" counter had just zeroed out (yes, that's a made up number), that I didn't return his gesture. I stewed, I pouted, I remained frustrated, I justified: I'm pregnant, my husband has been gone for 6 weeks (yeah, true story), and quite frankly, I'm young and still in the "first-time" mom stage. I thought, absolutely those are valid, and absolutely I should cut myself some slack because I have been a stellar mother the past 6 weeks and take complete pride in it. I then thought, when the fallacies of human life take place, all too often do we justify and say "Do better next time," without correcting this time. It had been 20 minutes since Beckett had been down, and I refused to let his night be soured by a lesson I am still learning (though really, not much sours this boy). I opened his door to find his eyelids in that twilight period moments before slumber takes over. I picked him up, blanket and all, and quietly apologized before singing,  "My Favorite Things" to him in the rocking chair.


In true Beckett fashion, while resting his head on his teary-eyed, pregnant mother, he burped. Loudly. Then 2 minutes later he burped again. Then, as if knowing I wanted to make up for the kisses lost earlier, he kissed me smack on the mouth over and over again all the while repeating "MMMUAH! MMMUAH! MMMUAH!" I think I have been especially blessed to soon be surrounded by three boys in my house. They do and will always calm me, gently correct and teach me, level me, love me. Plus, it probably will take three males to balance out the hormones of this one female.