“Knock, knock.” He says.
I note the lilt of his voice, the glint of his locks inside this morning’s first light. It enters the room in slants, framing our small space within it.
“Who’s there?” I ask, leaning my forehead against his. He laces his arms around my neck. We’re nose to nose, my arms wrapped around his small frame.
“Boo.” He tries.
“Boo who?” My move.
“Boohoo you’re crying and YOU’RE the banana baby!”
He throws his head back, mouth wide, eyes closed.
And he laughs.
His “punchline” is braided with the kind of giggles that fill the room from cool wooden floors, to high-beamed ceilings.
Photo, gratefully, via Jennifer Liv Photography
“It’s time to go.” I start, kneeling down, one yoga-pantsed knee to the floor, holding his jacket his way. My offering.
And then, I brace myself.
“No!” Arms crossed, brow furrowed, lips pursed. I know this look. He wears it well.
His body melts to the floor, afternoon shadows almost softening that look.
I lift him up, pull him close.
He pushes back — pushes me — away.
His hands are flat against my chest, tiny fingers splayed. He’s stronger than I thought he’d be.
We sit like this, as two.
Once again in our own space.
This time it feels impossibly small.
Photo, gratefully, via Jennifer Liv Photography
“Mommy?” He says, his voice thick with sleep, as he walks toward me.
He slips by my side in one fluid sweep. My legs are curled beneath me, my arms are out wide. His body is small, his knees are curled into to his chest. We fit like puzzle pieces in the moonlight.
“Mommy I have something to tell you.”
He tilts his chin, his hazel eyes — that are so like my own in color and in wide and in intensity -– are framed in long thick lashes, and are colored in the finest shades of tired.
“I have good news.” A smile plays on his lips, and on those eyes.
It’s late.
He went to bed less than an hour ago and since then, I’ve gotten less work done than I should have. “What is it, buddy?” I ask, hoping my own shades of tired are thoroughly masked.
He pauses, the clock ticks in our background. I force my own eyes away from it, to meet his.
Finally, he says, “I grew a beard last night.”
In one eyelash flutter, I lighten, and bite back my laugh. “Show me,” I ask with all of the serious I can muster.
And he does. He tilts his head further and shows me his “beard.”
My move yet again.
“It’s a great beard.” I say.
“I know.” He nods.
We understand each other.
Photo, gratefully, via Jennifer Liv Photography
“Do you want me to carry you?”
“No!” he says, as he opens his arms up to me. I reach down low and lift my boy. My third child, the only four-year-old I’ve ever deemed my baby.
I hold him close.
He fits his head beneath my chin.
His golden locks tickle my cheeks, my neck, just as they did when he was a newborn.
He’d curl his body against mine, pacifier held in place by the smallest of lips and the roundest of cheeks pressed against my shoulder. I’d fit my arms around him, one beneath and one in back. His tiny toes peeking below my arm.
He’s still small, I think, holding him in this way that should feel familiar.
His arms tighten around my neck as he loosens his legs. I feel his toes graze my knees in a shocking reminder of how very big four can be.
I tuck him in beneath his covers. He pulls them tight, and curls inside them. “I love you,” I say, brushing my lips across his forehead.
“I’m not tired,” he says back, lids already setting.
“I know.” I say back. Thankful, that by the light of this moon, we still understand each other.
And this, all of this, is four.
Big, lightly kissed with small.
Photo, gratefully, via Jennifer Liv Photography
The This is Childhood writers are Aidan Donnelley, Kristen Levithan, Nina Bazin, Galit Breen, Allison Slater Tate, Bethany Meyer, Tracy Morrison, Amanda Magee, Denise Ullem, and Lindsey Mead.
Today, I’m honored to host This is Four. Thank you for being here, and for reading.
Exquisite and vivid and laughing and crying. You perfectly captured this quirky, wonderful age. And I will laugh all day about his awesome punch line, “Boo Hoo you’re crying and YOU’RE the banana baby!” Hysterical.
xoxo
This is so beautifully perfect. You captured exactly how big, yet so very small four really is. My son will be 4 in two months and this really tugged at my heart.
He is an adorable four year old.
Oh, how I read this and know it’s coming. Gia just turned 3 and I get little glimses of what 4 is going to look like. The best part of this post for me is hearing you say that “it’s late” and you hope your tiredness is masked. Truly inspiring. I am going to, when it’s late and Gia is curled into me wanting just a few more minutes to cuddle, try very, very hard to mask my tiredness. Thank you, Galit for putting into words how little (and big) these babies are and how it is so important to be in the moment with them…at 3…at 4…at 5…
ugghh…sticky keyboard…glimpses
You captured four brilliantly! And oh- that middle picture. My goodness!! It’s perfection.
That last line brought tears to my eyes. I have a little guy that, each day, inches ever-so-much-closer to four – and I still call him my baby, too. Love this, Galit.
oh my heart!
I’m holding back tears and it’s because I get this. This is real! The NO’s and the insistance that sleep won’t come. BUT the willingness to go to mommy because that’s where love is.
It’s bittersweet when our babies grow, but they’re always our babies.
I look forward to 4. I really do. After tough 2, and now, turning-point-three, I cannot wait to see four. Fabulous four.
Beautiful, my friend.
(Also? Their toes grazing our knees, not our bellies – how long their legs!)
I how I miss FOUR! Fourteen is wearing me thin. This is a beautiful piece, capturing all of the emotion of raising preschoolers. Your son is amazing and so are you!
The photos are perfect — and perfectly placed — for your story. My daughter is only two, but just yesterday she cried, “Don’t touch me!” when I tried to pick her up. A portend, for sure, of what’s to come in the next few years. So much sloshing back and forth between babyhood and childhood, no?
We too love the big intertwined with small that is FOUR. A beautifully written homage to a great age and handsome boy Galit.
Oh sweetie. It’s perfect. Beautiful. I remember when Tech was like that. Galit, he’s almost fourTEEN. Can you imagine? Enjoy him. Enjoy it.
You nailed it, girl. After I read your post last night, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the yeses and nos of parenthood and how four seems to be the point – at least it was with my eldest – where the yeses start winning out just a bit. This is a gorgeous post, Galit. Thank you so much for sharing it – and showing us your beautiful boy through your beautiful hazel eyes. xo
Love, love, love FOUR. Love. And your little guy? I die for him. xoxo
Brilliant! My ‘baby’ will be 4 on 15th Feb and I can hardly believe it, seems like only yesterday ……… sigh.
Val
xxx
WOW. Subscribing to you blog asap! Sent by Denise and Kristen.
The vivid detail of the conversations juxtaposed with your observations of him as his mother…it gives us a full and luscious picture of four.
Despite so many beautiful phrases, it was, “He is still small, I think to myself” that made me cry a little. I’m trying so hard to think the same thing, and my little one is seven.
*your*
Oh, beautiful!
I so loved four. Love this my friend. xoxo
I loved when Ethan was four, and I’m looking forward to the girls turning four. I also love the attempt at jokes
This is truly beautiful Galit!
Oh you have captured four so well! I love it!
Love this!
So perfect. My favorite line is ‘big, lightly kissed with small.’ That is just it. I have a nearly seven year old that I still refer to as my baby- not within her earshot, of course!
This is perfect. It’s an absolutely perfect description at 4. As my youngest (and, perhaps, last) is 3 1/2, I feel the length of 4 — in width and time — fast approaching. Stay little, grow, stay little.
Beautiful, dear Galit. You have such a gift.
That last line, “Big, lightly kissed by small.” That one got me. You see, my baby is 10, and I still feel that way about her.
“all of this” indeed.
Love this post more with each reading. Thank you so much for putting four in your voice.
Exquisitely rendered. I could see every detail and couldn’t stop reading, even while feeding my young daughter lunch. Thank you for this…
Yes, four is the perfect blend of the big and the little. And once you’ve been through it once you know the signs. You can actually see the transition as they grow. It is a wonderful ache.
This just reminds me how much I am NOT ready for MY baby to be four yet! Good thing we have a while (only 8 months – ack!) This post is full of beautiful moments and words for a wonderful age. It might be my favorite so far, actually….
So beautiful and I can relate so deeply because my middle girl is four. Day in, day out, I am amazed by her simultaneous bigness and smallness, the faint remnants of babyhood, the bits of big girl. I just love this age and you capture it so beautifully. So happy to know you, and your words. xox
Oh, how I feel this. The push and pull of being big and little at the same time, of being mature and not so much. The sweet and sour.
So beautiful, my friend.
Brought back so many memories from when Marius was that age.
He has never lost his belly laugh and it’s something I cherish, probably one of my favourite sounds ever.
ah so hard to read this and keep it together! so beautiful.
This is so beautiful. I am also crying! My Little One is 4. I absolutely LOVE 4. It is such a wonderful age full of love and wit and curiosity. You painted such a vivid picture of the pure joy that my 4 year old son brings me. What a great post.
Four was such a great year. They want to be so grown up but they are still so little. I love getting to know Brody through your words.
And as the youngest, he will always be your baby. I’m a few months shy of 40 and my parents still call me their baby.
Oh, my sweet friend….what a doll he is. And he is growing up so fast! You make me teary…and missing my boy who was once four.
Through my tears I made it to the end of your post, remembering four. But not as well as I thought I would, those moments I did not write down somewhere, that I thought I would always remember.
My fifteen year old HAS that beard, I have to remind him to shave it. His deep voice no longer has even a whisper of that sweet four year old lilt. Oh keep writing dear Galit, capturing every moment, sound, and smell that you can, as you do it so very well. hugs
Oh, I am so in the middle. My guy is just-three, and my girl is four… but five next week. She has been the most perfect four that this has me crying.
Galit, you have such a talent for weaving sentences that mimic touch. I was holding Charlie recently, and he was absent-mindedly toeing my knees. It was such a distinct moment, and you’ve captured its essence perfectly. I am so glad I know you and can read your writing!!!
Oh, precious little fella.
Of course he is your baby but my goodness, mama, don’t you know he is four whole years old? I so know this one. I know it so very well.
xx
Oh, as my daughter is skimming the edge of five in all her fourness, I feel this. Know this.
This age of wanting to be impossibly big, but sometimes needing to still be incredibly small.
You speak to the ebb and flow the soft and hard of this age so, so beautifully!
Ah! Four! My baby is four too and how I am drinking in every precious moment – yes, even the stubborn ones.
So sweet! I have twin four year old girls. “Big, lightly kissed with small.” Yes! That says it all.
I enjoyed your story and am glad I stopped by to read it.
Your boy is beautiful…your words are beautiful. You capture 4 perfectly, making me laugh and cry. My oldest is almost 4- so smart and funny and so independent, but yet so small and needy. my puzzle piece that fits so perfectly in the moonlight too
Happy to have found your blog!
No way! I thought I was the banana baby!
“We understand each other.”
That’s the best right there.
And true true true.
I have gotten to 4 with one but not yet with the other. I know for sure that I hold on to each age tighter with the second one — I’ll try to enjoy to the fullest the 4 that you’ve so beautifully described.
That’s so very precious. Four is such a beautiful age… grown up, yet still so innocent and open. I don’t have kids (this makes me wish I do), but all my little nephews and niece were so adorable at that age. They still are, but four was something else.
This is proof that the simplest of moments can also be the dearest. I’m trying to be more conscious of being in each and every moment with my kids. My youngest is seven and I desperately miss four. I loved this Galit and the pictures are so, so precious. He looks like a heartbreaker.
My daughter is now four, and I can see her through all of this. The quirks, the knock-knock jokes that don’t make any sense, the quiet moments when it’s just the two of us. What a beautiful tribute to this age that seems to be on the brink of something…but just what that something is, I am yet to know. However, I think I can wait to find out. The days may be long, but the years are short after all. Why hurry, right?