Elan, Botanical Gardens, January 2012
I have to say, my little guy has really been handling the lead-up to his tonsillectomy tomorrow better than I expected.
When we first told him, he railed against it. ("No, no, no, I am NOT going to get my tonsils out! You know when I'm going to do it? NEVER!")
But within a few hours, he was making peace with the news.
This morning, as soon as he was verbal (after the usual morning groaning/fussing session), he told me he was excited about his Goodbye Tonsils cake at school. This afternoon, we had back-to-back prep errands: going to visit the Child Life Specialist at the hospital outpatient facility, and a trip to the store (shopping list: popsicles, ice cream, pudding, jello).
By the end, my emotional state was as mushy as the food. Emry had been fussing (probably something related to the giant load in his diaper deposited at the beginning of our shopping expedition that I didn't realize was in there until the end). Elan was seriously hyped up, but I was trying to cut him a lot of slack and be ultra-patient. I was negotiating the 5 p.m. rush at Berkeley Bowl, a notoriously crowded market. People were kind - the woman behind me in the check-out line helped me put my groceries on the conveyor belt - but I was exhausted and just trying to get through it. We got to the car and I realized Emry had taken off and dropped one of his socks. There was no way I was going back for that. I reached into the diaper bag for my keys. Elan was asking for a popsicle, Emry was crying, and I couldn't find the car keys. Standing there in the dark parking lot, I nearly burst into tears. The rush of emotion surprised me, but it shouldn't have. The same thing happened yesterday, while I was nursing Emry after he woke up early from his nap and interrupted the yoga I was doing to try to center myself. Sudden onset crying - it seems to be way my anticipation anxiety is showing through. This time, though, I swallowed it down. Didn't want to freak Elan out.
He's really being very BRAVE. He's saying that he's scared, and of course he is. ("Mama, I'm scared because how can they take something out of my body?"). I keep telling him it's okay to be a scared, and I'm so proud of how brave he's being. Because in order to show courage, you have to feel fear, a definition that I have always found inspiring, not being the fearless sort myself.
Watching him trying to figure this new thing that's been thrown at him, taking very seriously the list of yes and no foods I typed up for him, I'm so touched by how he's growing into a little kid. A pretty awesome one at that.