Dancing in the Rain

The heat has temporarily broke here in Minnesota, making way for a cooler breeze, rain, thunder and lightning.  The heavens are smiling upon us and I feel a little cool relief.  It has been so nasty hot lately, that we have all been in hiding, having Harry Potter movie marathons and sending eye daggers to our struggling window A/C.  Bo and Cote have struggled with the heat since the day they were born, but over the last two weeks Gage has had a hard time with it as well.  We even went as far as to basically buzz his hair to try and keep him a bit cooler.

So tonight at about 7:30pm the four of us headed outside for a scavenger hunt.  I popped Bo and Cote into their wagons and we tootled around the yard, searching for pine cones, leaves, sticks, feathers and crystals (aka rocks, lol).  We have a radio in the garage that we keep cranked up and all of a sudden a very nice song came on.  I for the life of me cannot remember what it was called, but it was a nice slow one.  I turned to Gage and asked him if he would like to dance, and he graciously accepted.


There we were, in the middle of nowhere, on the driveway, at our own private sanctuary... dancing.  He gingerly tucked his small (but in many ways, not small enough) right hand into my large left one.  I laid my right hand on his boyish shoulder and he placed his left hand gentlemanly on my hip.  We began to dance and it was at that exact moment when I realized I would give anything to rewind time and replay the last 6 years.  I would desperately attempt to suck up and savor every single second that has ticked by; every single second that I fear I have missed.  This boy dancing with his mother in the driveway, this boy deserves the entire world.


The rain began halfway through the song and Gage and I broke away to celebrate the drops.  We whirled and twirled, and I was thankful for the respite, as I was dangerously close to tears.  


As a parent I have moments often where I balk at how fast time is flying, but I have been reflecting on Gage a lot lately.  I became pregnant with Bo when Gage was 13 months old.  I had immediate sciatica with him that lasted the entire pregnancy.  I was high risk with all of my pregnancy, and everyone knows what that means... high risk= a million appointments.


Then Bo came and with him the instant "no eating".  We would spend countless hours trying to get a few small ounces in the child.  Within a couple of months, Bo's doctoring began.  Then therapies.  Then a pregnancy surprise.  Then the deployment.  More doctoring for Bo.  More prenatal's for me.  More Therapies for Bo.  More pregnancy misery for me.  More "non-eating" for Bo.  Then came Cote.  Then her diagnosis.  Then her RSV.  Then her doctoring.  More of Bo's doctoring.  Therapies for Bo and Cote.... I am guessing you see a pattern here?


Although Gage has been a better sport than I could have ever wished for, there is a vice-grip on my heart when I think of what he has been denied all of these years.  He has never shown an ounce of violence towards his siblings and he has shown nothing but patience for them.  I used to think that it was because of how he was raised, and I have taken credit for that.  What I am beginning to wonder is this; is it possible that he has never lashed out or acted like a Crank Butt because, in fact, he was never given an opportunity to get spoiled?  I believe in attachment parenting, and I have tried to give him every scrap of extra I have had, but was it enough?  Was it enough for this sweet child, who lets his siblings pull his hair and climb all over him?  Was it enough for the defender of Bo and Cote's naughty antics?  Was it enough for the five year old boy who tells me that he doesn't mind that Bo and Cote have Special Needs, because they are his brother and sister and he loves them?


Probably not, but I can't fix it and as much as I wish I could, I can't rewind time.  All I can do is attempt to suck in every single moment in the now and hope I can be the mom he needs in the coming years.


As the song began to wind down, Gage came back over to me and resumed the position.  We danced and I tried desperately to swallow the enormous lump in my throat.  In that moment I felt as if it were he taking care of me.  Like he knew my mind was in a regretful place and he was trying to assure me with his grace that he understood.  At five, a child should not have to be the one to understand, he should be the one who busts a window with a rock or punches his brother in the arm.  He should not be the one looking at his mother with worldly eyes, and wordlessly consoling her.


We danced our awkward dance moves, and as the song was ending, Gage asked me one of our favorite mother/son banter questions;


"Are you my sweetheart?"


"Of course I am your sweet heart, are you MY sweetheart?" I replied.


"Of course."


"Gage, are you my brown eyed prince?" I asked.


"Of course I am, Mom.  Guess how much I love you?" He asked.


"How much, hunny?"


"Eighty, fifty, sixty-two, hundred million gajillion!" He shouted!


"That's a big number, hunny!" I said.  "May I please have a kiss?"


"Of course."