Now We are Four
Spring has arrived in all its golden glory.
Forsythia bushes and clumps of daffodils cast a yellow haze over the neighborhood. The suburbs are a cacophony of bird song.
Today we celebrated the toddler's fourth birthday. My husband made two Spider-Man cakes, because he didn't think one would be enough and because he wanted a backup in case he accidentally ruined one. They both turned out lovely.
We opened presents. My brother got him a tray of kinetic sand, which occupied the kids for the better half of the evening. At home the baby slept in his car seat and the toddler sat on the back porch, playing with the iPad while I straightened up the house and brushed my teeth.
The toddler, worn out from a day full of birthday parties, went to bed without protest. The baby woke up shortly after, so I unbuckled his car seat, put his pajamas on and carried him to the nursery. He doesn't need me to rock him to sleep any more but I do anyway. I love feeling the weight of his body against my chest, hearing his breath slow and deepen. I love the way his fluttery movements soften and congeal into sleep. Alone with him in the dark, the time feels luscious, expansive; like spring itself.