It's been a while since I've written in here. I guess I am feeling the urge because last year I wrote something every day about our family in the month of December.
So much has happened since then, but really we are also all the same. Sometimes Craig and I hear the most of what's going on with the kids at night, when they're sighing out your questions and worries and hopes. We don't always have time or energy to let them get it all said but tonight, as Craig was reading Oliver the last bits of Harry Potter (book four), I just knew Georgia needed more reassurance than usual.
The prompt was almost eerie: she said she couldn't quite breathe. I checked her out and she was fine, but as we settled into bed and I began reading I could hear and feel her taking these huge, worried breaths. "I have to," she said, "or else I will stop breathing."
Guess what? I had the same weird thing when I was little. I couldn't get my head around the involuntary nature of breathing, and it would freak me out so much I would begin almost hyperventilating. I thought it was all up to me to get every single breath in or I would die.
We had a huge talk about it and some songs, and then lots of other things came up: fear of being on Santa's "naughty list," suspicion that if you got on it you would be "out of the family" (where did she hear that? that's awful!), worries that Santa couldn't possibly load all the bags he needed to, hopes that Christmas just wouldn't come because it was all too much.
So we snuggled and focused on Christmas as just a cookie-decorating opportunity and all was right again. She took my arm, tucked it in underneath her chest, and turned over, holding tight. My God I love her.