The End Begins

We are coming to a close here. In less than a week we will be getting on a flight--all four of us--to go back to Senegal. There are daily reminders of our upcoming departure.

Today was Gusi's last day of preschool in the US. We gave his teachers and his soccer coach gift certificates as thank yous for having been so welcoming to Gusi, and for having helped him learn so much. After the children had lunch, Papi and I (and the baby) brought by cupcakes for the kids and a cake for the teachers. They had all prepared a big book full of photos and letters from his classmates and teachers, and put it together with some toys as a going away present. Gusi was thrilled. I was touched. I teared up quite a bit. Amazing. I cried on his first day of preschool and again on his last. He will only have one first preschool, one first coach, one first teacher. My baby is growing up. Actually, my baby is growing and my little boy is growing up. But they will always be my babies. Always.

Don't Spit

Gusi is at that stage where he is really engaging people in conversation. With all the family visiting us stateside, he did not fail to impress. His vocabulary is incredible, he repeats everything and he makes sure folks around him know the rules that he is obliged to follow. For example, my mom took off her seat belt as she was driving into a parking garage one day--before actually parking the car. Gusi told her that she need to always wear her seat belt until the car was parked. Smart, huh?

Well, yesterday morning as Gusi, my mom and I were huddled on my bed around the baby, Gusi was talking to his baby brother and the baby was mesmerized by Gusi. He likes to get up real close to him and tell him what's going on. All of a sudden I hear Gusi saying, "no baby, don't spit, you're not allowed to spit." Huh? Gusi says it again. I look over and see the baby spitting up all over himself. I grabbed the baby to burp him and explained to Gusi that he wasn't spitting on purpose, but that his tummy had too much gas so the extra milk was coming out with the gas. Still, I wonder if Gusi understood or just thought that his brother was getting away with something.

Feeding Time

Gusi is a sweet little boy. He has been so good about having the baby home. He wants to hold him, kiss him and even feed him. Yes. Feed him.

Hungry baby cries.
Gusi: Mami, what's wrong with my baby brother?
Me: He's hungry sweetie.
Gusi: Mami, Gusi wants to hold his baby brother.
Me: Sweetie, he needs Mami's milk, that's all he eats.
Gusi: Gusi has milk too Mami.
Me: Really?
I put the baby to breast so he can feed.
Gusi walks over to take the baby.
Me: No sweetie, I need to feed him.
Gusi pulls up his shirt, looks at his chest and then at me.
Gusi: Mami, Gusi can feed the baby because Gusi has milk too.
Me: (laughing) Maybe you can feed him next time, ok?
Gusi: Ok, can I play with the train then?
Me: (still laughing) Sure.