Tuck & Tollie

Thomas Everett Betz meets little brother, James Tolliver Betz.

James Tolliver Betz "Tollie"
11.28.11, 8:09 PM
9 pounds, 2 ounces
21 inches

Hello, Tollie

Well hello, Tollie.

It's so nice to have you here where you belong!

Wombmate

I still have one.

JEB

Giving

I woke up this morning and while I begged for a birthday, I felt the day desiring to be Thanksgiving.  With deep breaths I determined to just be here, in the middle of provision and enough, in the prologue to even more.  Deep breaths smell so much like thankful.

Today we will be giving thanks.
Soon we will be giving birth.  And then giving thanks some more.
JEB

So Little,

So Loved.

Doll

This baby doll is about five years old, purchased at a discount store by Grandma as an acclimation device for Colby when we were expecting Celia. 

Celia learned to hug and kiss the doll, but was never especially interested in caring for it.  When it was time for her little brother's arrival she wasn't able to learn about how we'd need to take care of him.

Tucker became intrigued by the doll recently, without much encouragement from us.  He wants to give the doll milk.  And change its diaper.  And paint its toe nails.  He asked RoRo to make a beez like Tollie's for the doll. 
This evening Tuck stood at his little kitchen and cooked dinner for the baby doll, mushrooms and a donut.
JEB

Toward Three

Fall bends inevitably toward winter and little boys grow into big boys.  If we’re lucky.  Tucker leans away from two and stretches toward three.  Inchstones add up to milestones, and we're not even aware that it's happening.  It's amazing, really, that so much endless effort, so much surprise, can fit into the interval between car tuneups, can happen in the span of one season.
We quietly thrill to his early morning voice, dazzled by the way he wakes with a smile as wide as the new day.  Discharging words in a cannonade, he thanks us for rescuing him from too-high spots, describes things as very interesting, says I gotfor (forgot) my pants or I broked my beard.  The up and down cadence, the music of his stories about school or swimming, the zoo or the playground, told in his little boy register, sounds like the sweetest of instruments.  Occasionally a sweep of panic steals his breath, and he resorts to the default action of kids everywhere, when confronted with a situation beyond his scope of experience -- Mama!? Daddy!?
But he is two going on three.  He performs poorly on tests of family harmony and cooperation on too little sleep (though don't we all?).  Too often soon can't come quick enough, and he treats a delay like a human right’s violation.  Similarly, he treats lost toys like a sign of the coming apocalypse, bedtime like an affront to his human dignity, certain requests as attacks on his intelligence.

The seasons shift, my boy grows, and my heart brims with a complicated mess of emotions.  Much like I expect Tucker to continue to do, gratitude rises to the top.
JEB