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Eva
“Hurry up!”I prompt for what feels like the millionth time even as I struggle to catch my breath. “He’ll be here any minute!”
“Mama,” Robbie whines. “I’m tired. I wanna take a bath and go to bed.”
“I know, sweetheart.” I smooth my hand over his messy forehead. Normally, he wouldn’t go down for another two hours. In all fairness, we’ve had a busy day, but I need him extra tired tonight. If he sleeps soundly, there’s less chance he’ll be crawling into my bed around midnight. “Soon. You don’t even need a bath tonight. We’ll do it in the morning.”
“I’m really not supposta clean up my mess?” Robbie raises his eyebrows. Such a cute, serious expression on his young face. Every day, I see more and more of the grown man that his father is lurking in our son’s baby eyes and chubby cheeks, just waiting to get out and make a place for himself in this big world.
I don’t know how I’m ever going to adequately convey to him that it’s not always wonderful. For now, I bide my time and cherish every ounce of innocence his youth offers.
“Today is a fun day.” I paste on a smile that barely competes with my genuine exhaustion. “Sometimes, it’s okay to make messes then leave them for tomorrow.”
“Because it’s a holly day?” He grins.
“Yes, exactly that. Because it’s a holiday,” I emphasize.
He wraps his arms around my protruding belly. “You’re my bestest Valentime.”
“Are you talking to me or to your sister?”
“Both.” He releases me and shrugs. “Girls are yucky, but I like you and my baby sister. When’s she gonna come out?”
I swear, we have this conversation a hundred times a day. I’ve tried answering with everything from the exact date to the typical parental promise of soon, but it doesn’t sink in. I suppose I should just be happy he’s so excited to be going from only child to big brother. The other moms at preschool have shared horror stories about older sibling rejection from the time their younger children were in the womb. Robbie has never shown anything but love for his unborn sister.
“How soon?” He rests a chubby-fingered hand on the middle of my painted belly. “Today is good. She could be a Valentime’s baby.”
“She’s not quite done cooking yet. She might be a St. Patrick’s Day baby though.”
His little face contorts in horror. “You’re cooking her? Like dinner?”
“Ah, well, no,” I backpedal. “Not like I make dinner in the oven. Babies need to stay in their mommy’s bellies until it’s time for them to come out. Sort of like how I set the timer on the oven for dinner. If I take the food out before the timer dings, then it’s not ready to eat yet.”
Robbie wrinkles his nose in disgust and understanding. “Daddy likes his steak with gross red stuff. I don’t. Like that?”
“Yes!” I marvel at his sharp intellect even if his allegories are age appropriate. “Exactly like that!”
He seems less than convinced. “Maybe Dada wants the baby to be juicy and have the bloods, too.”
While Rob enjoys a rare steak, he definitely does not enjoy blood. Especially that time Robbie was covered in mine. Best table that discussion until our son is old enough to be told all the intricacies of his birth that don’t revolve around it was the happiest day of our lives.
I ruffle his dark, curly hair. There will be plenty of time for truth. Much, much later. “I think your dad wants the baby to come when she’s ready, just like I do.”
“Okay,” he sighs, filling the family room with his obvious disappointment.
Time to redirect. I’d like to think I’m getting to be a pro at it, but… “Are you ready to show me your Valentine for Daddy?”
“I guess.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“If you need more time to make it the way you want, that’s okay.” I check my Apple watch. The one Rob purchased and insisted I wear throughout the pregnancy—in addition to having real-time monitoring of my heart rate, blood pressure, activity levels, and sleep quality directly fed to our high-risk obstetrician. He called to say he would be home in less than a half hour.
“I’m done.” Robbie announces, holding his paper in the air without much enthusiasm.
“Honey!” I gasp. The picture is beautiful. Stick renderings of our little family with hearts of various shapes and colors floating in the air around us, and another large heart drawn around my middle with a tiny stick figure inside. Smatterings of glitter drift from the page into the air. Large capital letters scroll across the top of the paper, a simple yet powerful statement.
I LOVE YOU.
