Shrink, Expand, Polish, Repeat

Yvette on the experience of being a mother and a writer

He and I were in a small bubble of joy and love with paper, paint, and brushes. Water splashed from the plastic cup and onto the Ikea kids’ table. My three-year-old, free to extend his arm across the page to make a blue stripe with no other intention but to create.

“Mom, I taught him to laugh.” ‘Him’ was our three-month-old baby boy. And at five years old, my firstborn had easily warmed up to his brother, despite having asked for a sister.

Then he was eight, and the baby was three. A lazy Saturday kept us inside, acrylic paint and cheap canvases would keep us entertained.

I tried to wrestle the paint brushes from their hands to clean up stray lines, to fill in blank spaces, to make their art prettier.