Someone Else is Living Your Parisian Dream

Max and Leo are in tune in a way that I hope carries them through their lives.  Often, when Leo wakes from his nap and lets out a cry, it’s Max who senses a need to go to him first. I tell him, “Go tell Leo that mama’s coming,” as I finish the dishes, the laundry or some other overdue chore that just couldn’t wait anymore.  I hear him yell as he runs toward the back, “Mama’s com-ing!” with his toddler’s misplaced emphasis on the wrong syllables.  I find him hovering by the side of the crib, looking down at his little brother.  Sometimes, he’s just checking out the toys in there, trying to decide what to take from him. Other times, he’s brought one for Leo to keep him occupied.  Most of the time, he’s making Leo laugh.  This morning, Leo started out with grumbles that evolved into angry, low cries as he waited to picked up. Instead, I finished taking out laundry.  Heading toward the back, I see that Max’s door is open, and find him with his head and arms draped over the side of Leo’s crib quietly,  just sleepily keeping Leo company.

Many often ask how Max has accepted Leo’s arrival in our lives.  I couldn’t ask for a better situation except that, during tummy time last week, he systematically took toys out of Leo’s hand (gently) and set them aside in a small pile, out of Leo’s reach, leaving him grunting and drooling on his fist.   This classic sibling relationship made me smile a bit,   but it’s so rare that it wasn’t worth making a big deal of.   I handed Leo something else and told Max to back off.  He did.

They share a chemistry that I envy and am proud of, at the same time.  As a mother, I realize that the shaping of their relationship and true sense of brotherhood relies partly on my guidance and I harbor a small fear of failure in this area.  What if I let them down and they find themselves alone, one day, alienated from the other and their cousins, who will grow up in their own world, far away?  Our family here in Paris is very, very small.

I shared a quick, overdue cry with Leo recently, as I cradled him in my arms.  He comforted me appropriately by slapping my cheeks alternately with his wet palms and by pulling my hair that dangled toward him as I looked down on his bright face and dark, round eyes.  I realized, as I sat there holding him right there, that there’s no place I’d rather be.  A lost male friend once told me long ago, when parenthood held no allure for me “… a [father] is all I want to be.” I echo that sentiment whole heartedly.  I’ve arrived, finally, on the path that I set out to find so long ago with world map laid out, open ended flight itineraries, work ambitions that eventually became de-prioritized, aimful or aimless wanderings in jungles and along foreign streets where I understood nothing and everything all at the same time.  Perhaps I sought this sense of fulfillment and purpose - that I feel now - in the form of adventure. In the form of adrenaline, going so far as to put my own life in danger in war zones, and thinking little of it, so little that I didn’t tell my family until after I had arrived home.  And I did most of it alone, unwilling to share my search, that someone else might taint or dilute my experience by imposing their needs on my adventures .

I was looking for something even until Max was born, I struggled with all that I might give up. All the adventure that I would miss by being ‘tied down .’  Without realizing it, I’ve found that peace of mind and look forward, so much, to evolving with my little family of boys.  To sharing adventures with them.  Through this series of years of impulsiveness, pain, successes and yes, failures, I somehow landed here in France, a place that I’ve never taken interest in and still dislike in many ways, yet I’ve found my heart.  Full. And the search for that something that was missing in my life? Over.

I look forward, with no reservations, to new, shared adventures.