This afternoon, I was tired. Celia didn't take her nap, and Henry didn't take one either. I wasn't resting. I wasn't starting dinner, folding laundry, dusting the house, or planning our second Christmas meal as I had thought I would. I was just trying to keep a tired toddler and fussy baby happy.
I set Celia up with an art project. I tried to get Henry down for a nap, but he was wide awake. He was fussing a little more, so I put his seat near Celia so he could watch her, and went to turn on the vacuum hoping the white noise would calm him.
I wearily opened the closet, lugged the vacuum to the center of the hall, and plugged in the cord. I heard a small voice: "Mommy, I'll try to make Henry happy." Celia was kneeling next to his chair, talking to him. "It's okay, Henry Boy." (That's what I call him. She's always listening, even when I don't know it.) I started the vacuum. "Mommy, Henry's not crying anymore. He's happy now!"
She busied herself around him, jabbering away as she showed him toys, adorned his chair with her things, and surrounded him with pieces of her art project. She pretended he was Peter Rabbit and "made" him radishes and chamomile tea. He was transfixed.
He listened intently and watched her every move, examining each item she produced for him.
I could see for the first time how wonderful it will be for them to be brother and sister.
And as I pulled the vacuum down the hall, my eyes welled up and relief washed over me. I was still exhausted. Dark half moons still rimmed my eyes when I passed the mirror. I still longed for a nice shower and a long, deep sleep. But this sweet girl is back in my corner.
I couldn't possibly love her more.
And knowing, once again, that she loves me back- and seeing the good in what we've done giving Celia and Henry to each other- made my fatigue, the dark circles, the new wrinkles, those fifteen extra pounds, so, so worth it.
