The Case for the Only Child

I was wrong about these few weeks between school and summer school. They've been absolutely divine. The Bub and I are like two peas in a pod. Our days are our own. We answer to no one but the wind and we follow her wherever she takes us. Our mornings are spent wallowing in the covers, soft and safe and way too warm to give up too soon. We come out from underneath the blankets only to roll over and hug and lavish Daddy with goodbye kisses. Then we dive back in to tell jokes and giggle and sing secret songs about nothing until hunger and thirst draw us out. The days are filled with books and libraries and swimming pools and lunches and playgrounds and Legos and birds and green grass and crayons and stickers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and push-up sherbet pops and play dates and pickles and iced coffee and chocolate milk.

The Bub has reached the point where he is a joy to shop with. A joy to talk to. A joy to play with. So the going and seeing and doing and even the errands are all light and fun. As long as the Bub doesn't get too hungry or too tired, all goes smoothly and the days slide by, minute into minute, hour into hour, happy and together. This is the plus side to having only one. It is easier to align the moods of two than it is to figure in the hunger and the tiredness and the strife of three or four or more. The Bub and I, we know each other. At this point, we can anticipate each other's thoughts and moods... Now even when he freaks or has a meltdown or a tantrum, I know what makes him tick and it only takes a word or two or a hug to settle him down and wrap him in my arms and get the love back.

Because he is only one it means we can bask in the pre-bed ritual, after dinner and dessert and teeth brushing... there is usually a story or ten. Tonight, three chapters of The House at Pooh Corner, two chapters of Pippi in the South Seas, three little golden books, two Berenstain Bears and a Beatrix Potter. Followed by a made-up story (always about a bird and an animal, animals usually handpicked by request), and six mommy-sung songs... This Looks Familiar from The Muppet Movie, All My Loving by the Beatles, You Are My Sunshine, Stewball... every night closing with the one that always shuts his eyes... Dream A Little Dream. I usually sing it out, even after he's gone to sleep, just in case he can hear me in his dreams.

I would say he's spoiled, except the nights I don't feel like reading and singing, he's just as contented with a lights out and a hug and a kiss and a sweet goodnight from the door. He's adaptable like that. He's not a creature of habit for no other reason than his parents aren't creatures of routine. He has no competition for my or the Hub's affections... except of course from each other. (Many a sexy snuggle has been sliced in half by the Bub's body butter knife.)

My only fear is that once he's out in the world and we're gone... well, maybe that sort of heartbreak is inevitable no matter how many children you have.