hurt head, hurt heart

My mom and her four month old puppy were visiting this weekend. After some initial rocky moments (mostly involving the dog trying to eat various treasured possessions, and a bit too much nipping when he was younger), mutual affection has been established between the kids and the dog. I do believe the many wild games of Dog Soccer in the backyard sealed the deal.

Last night the kids and the dog were a bit more worn out than usual, having run each other around all day long and then ended it all with a rousing Taco Sunday (which - oh my -  featured the Smitten Kitchen apple cake with salted caramel gelato for the dessert). Amidst the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water, hunting down Gabriel for his bath proved a challenge. I looked all over the place for him, opening doors and peeking my head in, calling his name. I heard him yelling for privacy just as I opened his bedroom door but didn't react fast enough, and my head was stuck in just far enough to see him barreling towards me with both hands outstretched to slam the door shut. Which he did, with my head still between the frame and the door.

I think I screamed. Or yelled. It was a stunning pain, and I stumbled backwards, holding either side of my head, listening to Gabriel cry and yell incoherently about how he tried to tell me he needed privacy, and why did I come in, and why why why Mama? I knew I was scaring him, because I was having a hard time pulling myself together. I finally looked up and saw him clad in pajamas pants, the day's striped t-shirt, and a pajama shirt still stuck like a lion's mane around his dear, enormous head. His face was red and tears were streaming down it. I put it together: he was trying to surprise us by getting his pajamas on by himself, without being asked. Not only had I ruined his surprise, but I had found him in an embarrassing moment of dressing/undressing confusion: the clothes had not come off first, and now he was stuck dealing with two tops, one of which he couldn't dislodge from his head. And to seal the deal, in the midst of all this, the poor boy had to grapple with the fact of having given his mother a serious head injury.

So he cried. And sputtered.  The water was still running. I lowered myself onto the edge of the tub, beginning to cry myself, and beckoned him into the bathroom. I said, tell me you're sorry you hurt my head.

I'm sorry Mama. (sob, sob, choke). But you really hurt my feelings!

Yes. And you really hurt my head!

More tears, from both of us. The floodgates opened and we couldn't stop. I started to undress Gabriel and we kept on crying. I turned the water off; the sudden quiet slowed us down a bit.

This is getting silly, I said through my tears.

Yeah,  said Gabriel. We should stop crying or we'll be crying all night!!

So we managed to stop, though I felt the tears inside me, so many more, still desperate to get out. I fought them back, just as I fought the strange urge to bury my head on Gabriel's shoulder and let him comfort me. Not what a four year old needs.

But he knew. Finally settled in the tub and calm, Gabriel looked up and said, I know, Mama. You get in the tub with me and we'll ask Papa to give us our bath!

This sweetness nearly knocked me over, this recognition of my need to not be the one taking care of others just then, my vulnerability, the intimacy that our shared tears had brought on. Later I tried to tell Mike about it all and started crying all over again. It was a bit bewildering, until I realized that it had nothing to do with a hurt head, but really with the grief that has been sneaking up on me as my due date approaches. Gabriel will still be my baby, but he won't be The Baby. Everything will change.

Tonight Frances asked if I would snuggle in bed with her instead of let her read quietly for few minutes before lights out. I got in next to her and she burrowed down next to my big belly, feeling the baby move against her skinny arms.

Mama. When the baby comes we won't be our happy family of four anymore.

It's true. We're all feeling it, I guess. It's scary to draw closer to an imminent, irreversible change. We'll soon be a happy family of five, I am certain, but saying goodbye to this sweet chapter in order to turn the page and discover how the next begins...? My heart is full, so full it hurts.