Teenage Preview

To get to our room, we have to walk through Henry's. In the beginning, I'd tiptoe to bed and shush Jared, not wanting to wake the baby. Recently, I've started leaning over his crib for a minute before crossing the threshold to bed. In doing this, I've discovered something. He's so big! My little boy looks huge and long and HUGE in his crib. Henry will be two in five days. I'm not sure how this is possible because I still remember rocking in the rocking chair at my grandma's house while the contractions rippled through my big belly. And now I can barely carry my 30+lb boy in my arms.

Henry's birthdays make me miss my parents. Even though last year we had a fun party for him and lots of family and friends came out to celebrate. And I'm sure this year we'll do something relaxed involving a dinosaur/bus/Elmo/gorilla cake and lots of cousins. And Henry will have a great time again and laugh and smear his face with frosting. And he'll be excited about being able to rip wrapping paper and having everyone clap for him. But on that day, I will miss them even more than on others.

I don't think I'm even missing them for him. To him, they are here every day. In photos on the fridge. In memories of visits. In the clothes he wears from Nona. In the rocks he got from Bumpie. They are just outside the door, coming in at any moment. He would be excited to see them, but he also knows them so well that he probably wouldn't be surprised. They are Nona and Bumpie and we talk about them all the time.

I miss them as my parents. Maybe his birthdays remind me that I am their child. Unlike Henry, I know the difference between Mom and Dad within driving distance and not. I know that when they are close, my appreciation of them ebbs and flows, but when we are apart, at times it feels more like an ocean with a tide perpetually out.

And now I have 32 more children in my life. Teenagers, slightly different from my toddler, but not much. And when they ask me for advice or for permission or just talk, my head first goes to, "As a parent..." but I don't say this to them. I just sympathize with their parents at home, worrying from a distance, not able to peak over their cribs at night.  And after especially long/difficult/tiring/frustrating/attitude-filled conversations with teenage girls, I call my parents and I wonder if after we hang up and they head to bed, do they whisper in the Alaska dark about all the long/difficult/tiring/frustrating/attitude-filled conversations they had with me and I imagine all the long/difficult/tiring/frustrating/attitude-filled conversations I will have with Henry. This is good practice, but I still may call in Nona and Bumpie, the big guns, to take on some of those future conversations for me.