Ten, nine, eight, seven…
We’re counting down the hours before papa’s return. To be more precise I am counting down the hours. Upon informing Rivers that his father would soon be home he replied by shaking his little noggin and humming “Nonononono.”
He provides the same answer when I ask for a kiss. In this entire year I’ve yet to receive one, but I’m quite sure he made kissing noises to my girlfriend, as she left our apartment yesterday afternoon. I’d never seen our child so ecstatic about a visitor. He’s usually quite friendly, but he practically leapt from my arms before she was even through the door. He always loves to see her, so her presence in combination with the last day of our papa-less week made him all the more exuberant.
I realized this week more than another that it’s okay we don’t live close to grandparents. It would be much easier surely. But our NYC family (friends) know when and how to provide support too. I’m so thankful for individuals who dropped by, or allowed us to crash their place for a few hours. Every recess from each other made our time together all the more special.
As Rivers takes his finally nap, before his bearded playmate appears, I’m enjoying a hot cup of jasmine and finishing a little story that seems all too fitting. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Twenty Days with Julian & Little Bunny by Papa. A short journal of the author’s time with his five-year-old son while his wife and daughters were visiting grandparents. It’s such an honest account and demonstrates the complex and simultaneous feelings of gratefulness and annoyance that come with being a parent. A hundred and sixty-odd years later, some things haven’t changed. Probably they never will.