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Wedding Weekend: The ring bearer bares it all
Monday, March 31, 2008 
This weekend, Molls got married. It was one of those weddings that you leave happy -- teary from the grace and bliss of it all, exhausted from singing into thumb microphones with your grrrlfriends and dancing with your boy to Motown all night and so full of hope that there is love like that and it can last. Happy.
I was a bridesmaid, Lil E was a ring bearer and we proudly stood beside Molls, one of our favorite people in the world and one of the strongest people in our now very definitive circle of loved ones. Lil E was ecstatic in his tiny tux and told Molls earlier in the week, "I know you will look amazing!" And she did.
Rewinding a bit before that, though, to the rehearsal dinner and the toasts and giggles and all the pretend pomp and circumstance, Lil E was far more serious. He took his little bow to Baby Jesus that the Catholics like you to take as you greet the priest, and he stood silent and with eyebrows knit in concentration as the bride and groom lit an imaginary unity candle and exchanged air rings and mouthed their vows.
He explained the complexities of Lightning McQueen to adult members of the bridal party at dinner and raised his juice box to toast the happy couple. He was a good boy, a sweet boy and he seemed to soak up all the loving energy in the room. I held him tightly against me as he grew tired and requested his paci and babydoll Tiger and time crept far beyond his bedtime.
He was asleep by the time we got home and I carried his limp body inside, peeled off his coat and hat and shoes and dress shirt. He woke up then and smiled up at me wearily.
"Mommy, is the rehearsal over?" he asked.
I nodded. "Shhhh. Close your eyes."
And I laid him back down on the bed, ran a finger down his nose and went to find a Pull-Up and clean pajamas.
When I turned back to put them on, though, he was still reclining but with his arms back, hands behind his head, bare chest thrust out. He looked, dare I say, playboy-in-practice-ish.
"What are you doing?!" I laughed quietly and he answered me like it was completely obvious.
"Pushing out my boobies!"
"What?!" I laughed, this time louder. And then we got to the heart of the matter.
"Mommy, what are boobies?"
It was a good question, I guess, but it threw me off since the kid spent a good 18 months so attached to them. I pointed to my chest.
"These," I said matter-of-factly.
"Ohhhh."
"You don't really have boobies," I clarified. And honestly, yes, I would normally say breasts but nearly two hours after regular night time, in the nightlight-lit room of your parents' house where you are transitioning from marriage into single momdom, these formalities cease to hold such importance.
"But I like boobies," he said completely convincingly, "So why can't I have them?!"
I smiled and slid his camouflage pajama top over his head, but I was thinking as I undressed and redressed him, covering the boobies he wished he could thrust forward into the world, or at least the quiet safety of his room, that he'd tiredly tapped into a question of the ages.
Or at least of much of mankind. Ahhh yes, small boy, if you only knew how many grown men still wonder why, if they love boobies so much, they can't have access to them all the time. And so another lesson is learned for this 3-year-old, I suppose: Sometimes we thrust out what we don't have just because we so wish we had it. Sometimes, that's adorable and optimistic and full of hope.
And other times, it's just a reality check of who we really are, what time it is and that we need some sleep before a big day of putting forward who we really are.
Reader Comments (3)
God I love this age!!! The wedding sounds wonderful!!