brothers.

He starts his day with milk, sans cereal. When he's done, he likes to cuddle for a few minutes. A couple raspberries in the neck are always appreciated. He lets me squish his forearms and cheeks. And then it's time for business.

I seat him in my doorway where he can peer down the hall, or across the way into his brothers' room where they are playing. He is quiet for several minutes, listening to their chatter about various toys. His hands rest on his lap and his eyes are huge with interest.

Soon, they notice him. "Noah!" the older cries excitedly. "Baby!" the second-oldest exclaims a breath later. (He knows Noah's name but prefers to address him by title.) They run heavy-footed to swarm around him, bending over his small, pudgy figure like adoring giants. They ruffle his hair, smoosh his cheeks. His dimples show when they hustle to bring him toys from their collection. Like a tiny king accepting tribute, he pokes among them, rattling this one, tossing that one.

I worried that being the third son, he might have a hard time carving out a place of his own on the trail behind his brothers. I was wrong. Gabriel and Eli delight in him, marvel at his cuteness, squeal at his every accomplishment, and have accepted him without hesitation into their pack, even if it does slow them down that he's (currently) unable to scale the stairs by himself.
"You have your hands full!" I am told frequently when I am out and about with all three. Aside from the sheer busyness of being the matriarch in this clan, I often find myself wondering how to navigate in their world. The other day Gabriel and Eli were wrestling over something and I went to stop them. But then I sat down again and asked my husband, "Do I... let them... wrestle?" And he answered, "Yep."

Where will they go, my little pack of sons? And will they always be close the way they are now? I pray it is so.

Gabriel, Eli & Noah ::: Nov. '09