I hear a tiny voice quietly beckon for me from my comfortable reading spot on the couch. I sigh, closing the book and placing it on the side table, bookmarking my place to hopefully get back to later.
This wasn’t a new experience as of late. Previously, our evening routines had been pretty standard. It had been unlike him to be awake this late, especially on weekends. But since James and I discovered baby number two was on the way, I’d found our son’s behavior seemingly more in tune with his father’s.
More late nights, more agitation, more anxiety even. He’d always been so perceptive, so it wasn’t really a surprise. It had simply become a little more challenging to grasp his needs on any given day. Another commonality with his dad, I supposed.
I slowly inch myself to the end of the couch, stretching my protesting back muscles before groggily meeting my equally sleepy son in the doorway of his bedroom.
I stare down at his tiny, scrunched face, his almond eyes looking upward to meet mine. I rustle his messy bedhead with my hand before welcoming his little bear hug. I pull away gently to kneel and reach his level.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I ask tentatively, glancing back at his flickering nightlight in the background. “Did something scare you in your sleep?”
I pause, trying to think of more questions for a toddler.
“Did you need something maybe? Water? Food?”
Eventually, he points toward our bedroom right next door.
“Dada is walking. A lot.”
Ah. So he heard his dad. That made sense. He was a light sleeper, after all.
Before I have a moment to give an explanation fit for his age, he continues.
“Is he scared of something?”
I assume that, from his perspective, if there are monsters in our room making Dad pace, surely he couldn’t stand up to them himself.
Now it’s my turn to shake my head.
“No, baby.” I think for a moment, reaching for his hands in reassurance. “Dad just walks at night when he’s thinking. Not because he’s scared. I promise there’s nothing scary in the house.”
I’m not positive if this is an acceptable answer or not, but it at least seems to calm him a little.
I walk him back to his bed and sit beside him as he silently ponders my response.
“What is he thinking about?” he asks as I pull the covers back up from where they’ve fallen to the floor.
“Well…” I begin, breaking his gaze. I myself wasn’t sure, but that would be my next task after this. “Could be anything. Could be you, could be me. He likes to think about the people he loves.”
That gets a better reception, though he was already fading now that he’d returned to bed.
I watch as Shion’s eyes grow a little heavier. I place my hand on his cheek, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Just know that whatever it is, you’re safe. He’s safe. I’m safe. Okay?”
He nods, and I sit there for a few more moments to make sure he drifts fully back to sleep.
I do hear James pacing, which concerns me. He’d been so sick at the beginning of this pregnancy that I’d worried about whether he could safely continue working. Anxiety had settled back in just like it had the last time, and I didn’t want to neglect those feelings either.
I take one final look back at our son before closing the door and stepping over to the master bedroom. The door is shut as well, but I press my ear against it to better understand the environment before stepping inside.
When I finally enter, I find James sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
He notices my silent presence as I stand at the edge of the room. A look adorns his sweaty face, though it almost seems hidden behind his own palms. The room feels cold despite his outward appearance.
“Shion thinks you walk a lot.”
I speak softly as I join him on my side of the bed.
He doesn’t respond at first, simply grasping my hand in his while wiping his face with the other.
“Are you… are you okay? This seems like a bit more than normal for you.”
I gently pull my hand free from his tightened grip and rub the small of his back instead. He’d always relaxed whenever I did that.
“It’s for a ridiculous reason. I promise,” he rasps.
At that, I let out a small laugh, considering many of his hormonal plights could be described that way. The chuckle earns me a mild death glare, which quickly returns me to silence.
“I suppose anything can be ridiculous to the wrong person,” I shrug.
“Are you the wrong person?” he asks sternly, as though trying to determine whether I’ll keep my composure no matter the answer.
“Wouldn’t say so,” I reply. “You can tell me.”
He squirms in place for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing his rather large baby bump he’d predictably hidden under oversized clothing. He turns his face away from me, I assume in hopes of avoiding my eye contact.
“Well now I definitely want to know.”
He groans and drags his hands down his face.
“Can we just pretend I never woke you up?”
“You didn’t wake me up, I was awake. Shion woke up.” I pause. “Who, by the way, thought you were pacing because you’re scared of monsters.”
That finally earns the faintest huff of laughter from him.
“Maybe the monsters would be easier.”
I nudge his shoulder. “James.”
“I…” He hesitates for another moment before finally giving in. “I wanted to give our kids each books.”
“Oh-kay… and that’s bad because?” I push.
He looks back at me like I’ve missed the point, though I do hold to my promise and keep myself perfectly contained like the good spouse that I am.
“I don’t know what to put in them!” he cries, lying back on the bed in embarrassment. “I thought it would be easy, write our love story, do scrapbooking of all the firsts, but then… it became overwhelming and now I’m all consumed and very frustrated.”
He sounds utterly exasperated, which I can understand. I remember feeling much the same way while building the key furniture for our son’s nursery. What once seemed simple and straightforward had quickly become overwhelming.
“Would you want help, then?”
I flop down beside him and pull his body toward mine. He turns and reluctantly rests his head on my shoulder. I know he has to be exhausted himself, but he’s absolutely fighting it.
“I would want help,” he mumbles into my shirt. “Just to help me organize my thoughts, maybe.”
He presses himself deeper into my embrace, something I’m more than happy to reciprocate. It isn’t long, however, before I begin to feel a familiar wetness against my neck.
I know the answer, but I pull away to look at his face anyway. I wipe his tears away cautiously with my hand, like I’ve done so many times before recently. I hate how much anxiety the mood swings bring him.
“Why can’t I think of things to put in there myself?” he sniffles. “Does that make me a bad parent?”
My heart sinks at the question.
I kiss his forehead, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face.
“No, it doesn’t. If anything, I think wanting to make a memory book for both of them shows just how loving you are.”
I glance past him toward his desk, trying to gauge his progress. From what I can tell, he already has a decent amount written.
“What do you have written so far?”
He looks down before meeting my eyes again, thinking.
“So far I have a beginning note to Shion. How much we wanted him. How he changed our lives for the better. Just how proud I am to watch him grow up.”
I smile warmly at his words, knowing that even without my input, I’d sign the bottom with him in complete agreement.
“I think that’s a perfect start,” I whisper back.
After comforting him a little while longer, I help him back into a seated position before standing to get a better look at the books.
As described, the note to Shion is adorably written, with an empty space on the opposite page reserved for a photograph to be added later.
The other scrapbook is still closed, decorated only with delicate floral detailing to represent our unborn daughter.
I retrieve my own notebook and pen from the desk drawer before rejoining him on the bed.
I begin by drawing a circle in the middle of a blank page. Inside it, I write Baby.
“What are the moments you want to remember most?” I ask, drawing lines outward from the circle.
He stares at the page before looking back at me.
“I guess first steps, first haircuts, first big trip?”
I nod and write them down.
“First day of school. Favorite toys. Things they say when they’re little.”
I add each one to the growing web of ideas.
Before long, he’s listing moments faster than I can write them. First holidays. New friends. Funny stories. Birthday parties. Family traditions.
The page fills steadily with ink.
I glance over the notebook before turning it toward him.
“Looks like someone had ideas after all.”
For the first time that night, he actually smiles.
“Thank you,” he says, finally letting his shoulders relax.
I watch as his eyes drift down to his moving stomach. I place the notebook on the side table, capping the pen for the night.
Then I place my hands over the bump, leaning down to kiss it before meeting his lips with my own.
“It’s funny,” I say between kisses.
“When Shion asked why you were walking around, I told him you were thinking about the people you love.”
James chuckles softly, sinking his body further into the pillow.
“I guess I wasn’t too far off.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
The room feels quieter now.
Not because there are fewer things to think about, but because they no longer seem quite so overwhelming.
