evenings are funny

“Hi Bubbas! We’re home.”

Before I crack the door, he’s already crawling in my direction. I enter the house at 5:15, and I watch Cal speed racing toward me on his hands and knees, leaving our nanny in the dust on the floor behind him. Now that Shaun and I carpool, we arrive together, but Cal, grunting, bypasses his dad and dashes over to my feet where he grabs my pant legs and stands in front of me. It’s his way of greeting me after a long day away. I can’t help but revel in it. I smile and say hello then attempt to wash my hands. After, I pick him up and tote him around.

He likes when I’m holding him while Shaun makes him laugh. Half the time in the evenings now he is laughing; I mean, completely cracking up. It really sets him off when I walk down the poorly lit hallway and Shaun starts in after us making big monster noises and dramatically stomping around. I’d think this would scare him, but Cal thinks this is the cat’s meow. Even when Shaun’s not meaning to stage a monster chase game, Cal laughs when Shaun walks behind us. After playing all kinds of peek-a-boo games, we sit on the floor and I ask him about his day. He’s busy playing with something, but I know he listens because he pipes up in his own format. Later, while Shaun is starting dinner, we go to Cal’s room.

Trying to wrestle a huge cloth diaper and footed PJ’s on a 9 month old is probably my hardest physical task of the day. It takes lots of song and dance to get him unclothed, diapered, then clothed, and when he’s free of my confines, he crawls straight to the window draped in three panels of soft jean. He hides in the jean and falls over the thick curtains, all the while holding on for dear life and giggling. Sometimes this sort of thing would make him cry but not there or then. It’s funny.

I snatch him up and pop in his pacifier and he curls up clutching his blanket beside me on the futon on the floor, which rests beside his crib. We both breathe for the first time that day it seems. He nurses for a few minutes then I choose three books and most of the time he’ll watch me read them, only periodically grabbing at the pages. Lately, he’s interested in the parade of animals in Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Or maybe it’s the animal noises I make.

After reading, we say good night to his nightlights, formally known as Mr. Moon and Mrs. Star (they both kept their last names). Once I flip the switches, it’s dark. I power on the waves on the sound machine and I rock him for several minutes, singing twinkle, twinkle or humming. He knows it’s time so he just rests his head against my chest (he used to resist at first, now he just unwinds.) Once I say goodnight, I lay him in his crib on his side, he rubs his blanket over his hands and keeps his eyes closed. Eventually, he rolls on to his stomach, tucking his feet underneath.

As I slip out of the dark room buoyed by the eventful evening, Cal’s laughs still streaming through my head, it’s just past 6 so I have time to accomplish a few more tasks before putting myself to bed too.