We woke up this morning, as we do every morning. Snuggled close, his little body draped over mine. He wiggles, he stirs, my eyes open, to catch his blinking, then staring into mine. He purses his little lips to give me a good morning kiss. He asks for “na-nas” which we have been doing for the past three hours, dozing in and out of sleep, but he wants more. I say to him, “we can do na-nas, but wait, I have to show you something, let’s go look out the window”. He looks at me puzzled. I say, “I think it snowed”… “No?”… “Yes, snow”.
We roll out of bed, our hair messy from the night’s tossing and turning, our faces warm from each other’s breath. My little boy is dressed in stripped footy pajamas, with monsters on his toes. I am dressed in leggings and a thermal shirt, my over sized socks sagging off my feet. We lumber over to his window, sealed shut with plastic because our house is old, and our wallets too thin to replace them yet. The shade is pulled down ¾ of the way, but leaves us enough space to peak out to the wintery world. Everything is white.
We stare. His eyes grow big. “No!”… “See, it did snow!”
I tell him to go look out the windows in my bedroom, the grownup bedroom, where daddy sleeps alone this morning in our big king sized bed, the bed we purchased just before our baby was born, the bed that is our family bed most nights. It is low to the ground, resting only on it’s box spring, low enough that my little one races over to daddy and says excitedly right into his sleeping face… “No!”
I stop to use the potty, in our little bathroom snuggled between these two bedrooms, in our cozy Cape style home. My son cries, loud aching cries for me, as he does every morning when I get up to pee. He looks for me, but stands paralyzed by his sadness right outside of the bathroom’s open door. “Come here!” I say, frustrated that this is part of the morning ritual. I get up carefully and whisk him into my arms and on to my lap to finish peeing, never with any privacy, and he looks out the window beside us as the curtain floats on heat rising from the radiator next to my bare legs. “No.” “Yes” I say, “But I think we can see it better from the windows in my room, let’s go take a look, help mommy pull up her pants”. And he does.
Finished with that ritual, we head into my bedroom. We look out the windows on the back of our house, into our blanketed back yard. We see the small patch of garden, which gets far too little light during summer months due to the big maples, and walnut trees in our back yard, now sparkling in misty morning light. We see his sand box, covered with this new substance, equally shapeable and thrilling to touch. We see the dark silhouettes of the trees, coated, peaceful in their new attire. I ask if he is hungry, if he is ready to go downstairs to eat. I am trying to avoid another nursing session, because we are working on weaning, and I know my fading milk supply won’t satisfy his growling belly. But he catches on, and runs to our big bed, scrambling over downy blankets and squealing for help and “na-nas”. I ask if he wants to snuggle, he vehemently shakes his head yes.
So we crawl in, under our big comforter, and towards the warmth of daddy. He pulls up my shirt, and I rest my head down on the cool pillow, which has been waiting for me all night. We snuggle, and nurse, and prepare ourselves for our day. I will call clients, and cancel appointments. Because when there is snow outside, the world should stop. When there is snow outside, and magic in the air, and little voices marvel at the beautiful new world, there is nothing more important than this day, this moment, this time spent together. I ask again if he wants breakfast, and this time I say “eggs?” that gets his attention. He looks up at me and nods. He wiggles out from the covers, and purses his lips again to give me a kiss. I kiss him and say “thank you, I love your morning kisses, can you give a kiss to daddy?” He looks in the direction that is the lump of my husband. Daddy rolls towards us, making the mountain of his body easier for our little boy to climb, E leans in towards him, I say, “give daddy a kiss”, and he does.