Not long ago, L. surprised us out of the blue by telling us that the happiest day of his life was when T. was born. He then went on to recount, in great detail, the facts of T.'s birth ending with his first sight of her, as she lay between my legs. He really meant it, too, because he witnessed her birth--right there, up close and personal, while Clifford the Big Red Dog played on the wall-mounted hospital room television. He's never talked much about her birth before. He was, after all, only 3 1/2 years old at the time. We hadn't planned on his being in the room when T. was born, but she came ten days early and we had no family or neighbors we could count on. What could we do?
I was surprised and happy to hear L.'s pronouncement, because I remember things so differently. I remember laboring for hours to M.A.S.H. reruns in the basement, while Scott frantically made provisions for his classes. I remember waking L. up at 2:00 a.m. so we could all drive to the hospital. I remember how small he seemed, standing on the white step stool in our bathroom, as he washed his hands. I remember holding his hand as we walked into the hospital and feeling my heart break a little, with overwhelming and protective love for him, and also for this new person, who would soon be in the world. L. carried his best teddy bear and a toy doctor's kit into the hospital and was all nervous excitement--until, that is, he realized it wasn't a game. He took one look at the hospital room, and the IV in my hand and said, lips shaking, "I want to go home."
He was so small, so unprepared. He stayed up all night with us as I labored, and as the doctor and nurses came and went.
I remember his eyes wide with worry and fear when I couldn't help myself and screamed out (the epidural never took) near the end of it all; I remember not even noticing he was in the room when it came to pushing T. out; I remember the stab of guilt afterward, when I thought about this fact.
I remember how confused L. seemed when he saw T. swaddled for the first time, and when we settled her on his lap for the requisite brand-new sibling photo, he looked at me, eyes half-afraid, half-amazed.
I think I projected a lot onto him--maybe my Mama worries about my first-born; maybe my own fears, my own pain, my own concerns,my own baggage.
We've struggled so much with sibling rivalry this summer, in particular. This summer, over all others, the kids have fought more, squabbled more, disliked each other more at times. But while all that was going on we didn't notice they were also growing closer than ever this summer. And while I was busy lamenting the fact they couldn't get along, or share a pile of blocks, for Pete's sake, something bigger and better was building between them--a real bond, a closeness they haven't had before.
I didn't see all that until L. headed off to school on Monday. Like all big revelations that catch you unawares, or sideswipe you out of nowhere, this one took my breath away and made me ache, for the millionth time, for a way to bottle time.
