Finn still nurses once each morning. It’s more out of tolerance for me than any real desire on his part. He spends half the time smacking me in the chest and the other half gargling his breakfast just for fun.
And usually at some point in our wrestling match, one of his brothers appears at the door and asks if Finn is done yet. His answer is almost always a resounding, “YES.”
Only he says, “Uh” which means roughly the same thing.
This morning it was Ian who came to end the morning tussle. At the sound of Ian’s voice, Finn launched himself out of my arms and began the long slither off my bed and toward the floor. Upon gaining his arms and legs, he issued another siren call. “Dah.”
Ian answered back from the door of my room. “Finn!”
Finn issued a happy grunt and pushed off in a purposeful crawl, his hands slapping loudly across the hardwood. “Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.”
Head down and giggling, he motored his way to his brother and paused only when he reached Ian’s lap. Ian wrapped his arms around Finn and they enjoyed a morning snuggle.
I tried to capture it in the dark. I failed a little bit. But the moment is there.
They like each other.
I love that Finn crawled to his brother and never looked back. From there, they had a little wrestle and then went into the kitchen, Finn smacking along behind his taller counterpart. I heard Adam and Sam greet Finn with their own special nicknames for him and the mouth noises that make him laugh.
And just like that, I was obsolete. Me and my under-appreciated chestage have become an after-thought, left behind for time with the big boys and the hope of a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.
And even though there’s a twinge of mommy-sorrow, it’s followed quickly by mommy-joy: Finn has some of my favorite people to lead by example in his charge to boyhood. And they are happy to show him the ropes.
And, if I need consolation, my baby does still need me a little bit, if for nothing more than to shovel yogurt in his face at lunchtime…