Mama Hase

HH has brought in an intermediary.

Last night as he was settling in for bed he reached out for her, finding her in the pile of creatures that occupy a good third of his bed, and plopped her next to his pillow, then he ordered me to “talk to her!” He has adopted a rather brusque manner and hasn’t yet discovered the nuance of “please” or “would you” or “could you.” Instead, as the day draws to a close he tends to hold his favorite bear very close to his face, orders me to converse with one of his animals, his favorite is Mama Hase (Rabbit), then he settles back and listens as I recount the events of the day to her. He doesn’t often comment on our conversations but I know he’s paying close attention because his mouth does this funny thing where it looks like he is chewing or sucking on his tongue with his mouth closed. When he does that I know two things are going on: He is not long for the world of the waking and he is listening. He has also recently begun answering certain questions with a curious, “ I can’t tell you.” I don’t yet know if that means he doesn’t want to give me the answer or he feels it’s a secret or its just too much trouble – maybe it’s a combination of all three. The funny thing is that when I’m conversing with one of his stuffed animals he is more likely to chime in with an opinion than if I asked him the question directly.

I’m preparing for a business trip, something I used to enjoy quite a lot but, since his arrival on the scene, have found increasingly less interesting. I just don’t like being away from him. He’s growing and changing so fast and I want to witness all of it. It is something I promised myself when he was born, that I would pay attention to the small changes, and inevitably when I return from one of these trips I realize how much I’ve missed.

Last night Mama Hase and I were discussing my upcoming departure and I told her how much I was going to miss her and HH and he chimed in with a “me too!” We turned to him, the rabbit and I, and he explained that when I was away he sometimes cried. I told him I cried too but that it was a loving cry not a sad one, not the kind of crying you do when you hurt yourself but another kind, one that acknowledges how much you love those you have left behind. He agreed, and nodded his head, then said no more about it. I kissed him goodnight and tucked Mama Has up close to his pillow. He rolled over and looked up at me as I rose from his bedside. I said good night and as I reached his door I looked back at him and said, “I love you.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, then a wisp of a smile found his lips and he said, “I love you too.”