Then a semi-ridiculous thing happened: I thought about Eli at the doctor's office letting the doctor look in his ears even though he hates it when the doctor looks in his ears. I told myself, "You have to be brave like Eli!" And it worked.
That night at bedtime, I told Eli I had been thinking about him. "I was scared because I didn't want to get the shot," I told him. "But I said, 'I have to be brave like Eli!'"
Eli threw his arms around me like he understood somehow that I was paying him a compliment of the highest order. "You're the best mommy in the whole entire world!" he said.
They say that for everything there's a season, and December seems to be the season for sweetness for Eli; last December, I wrote about a poignant walk to school with Eli where he saw some holiday lights and proclaimed, "Lights! They're beautiful!"
This morning, on the same route to school with my bigger and more verbal kid, Eli gave Phil a king's farewell as Phil headed down the stairs into the subway. Sticking his head through the railing as Phil descended, Eli called after him, "Bye! Love you! See you after school! Love you! See you later!" Then he blew kisses. Hurrying to join me, grinning, he told me, "I gave Daddy kisses for the stairs." Then he looked down thoughtfully. "The subway is under the stairs," he said.
"The subway is underneath us right now," I agreed.
He studied the sidewalk, then looked up, taking in busy Queens Boulevard: the man in a can selling coffee and bagels, the dozen newspaper boxes in a row, the trucks unloading in front of Key Food and CVS. Then he looked up at me.
"This is a beautiful world," he said.
This is such a beautiful world, Eli, and I'm so glad you're in it with me.
Happy holidays.
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