Home

Before the rain started up and kept on going right into the night, Fly and I went outside to plant a few flowers. He picked them out himself at the nursery -- red salvias, good for attracting butterflies. Excellent choice.

I asked him if he wanted to plant the flowers with me, and he happily followed me outside. I told him we had to dig holes in the dirt to put the flowers in. Fly chose a gardening tool and began to dig in the dirt near me. He uncovered some kind of larva, which scuttled away -- he wanted me to help him "rescue" the bug, and before long we couldn't see the dirt-loving creature anymore.

Digging a few holes was slow going for me. At 36 weeks now, it's hard for me to bend over for long periods of time. And it was hot. I'd dig for a while, stand up, wipe my brow, ask Fly how his digging was going and talk to him about plants. He got impatient and abandoned our effort. He looked for sticks, picked up fallen leaves, wanted to play with the children next door and was sad when they made only a brief appearance outside to get in their car and go somewhere with their mom.

"I want a different home," Fly said suddenly.

"You want a different home?" I asked. When I'm not sure what Fly is saying, I usually repeat it to make sure I understand him.

"I want that home over there," he said, pointing to the one next door where four children live. The family moved in about six months ago, found mold throughout the house and basically had to reconstruct it from scratch, top to bottom, inside and out. So basically, their house is brand new and looks amazing. Everyone is super nice, but we haven't really gotten to know the new neighbors yet.

Planting a few red flowers in the front yard -- and feeling I was doing a pretty lame job at that -- I felt sad Fly wanted a different home despite trying to make ours the best we can. I wanted to stop my digging and planting because I knew a few flowers couldn't measure up to a beautiful home full of children. And dogs.

It doesn't help that for weeks Fly has been saying, "I want to go home." When we are already home. When he is in his room -- when he is in his bed. How could you be any more at home than when you are in your own bed?

I know he's only two and a half and still learning to put together his thoughts and express himself through language, but it makes me worry. It makes me feel inadequate as a mother. How have I failed to provide Fly with the feeling of having a home and being home? What is he missing that makes him want to "be home" or have a different home? What will he think when the baby arrives and turns our home tospy-turvy for a while?

Fly didn't want to help me put the flowers in the holes once I had dug them, didn't want to help water them as he usually would and he seemed relieved to finally go back inside when we were done.

I was relieved, too, to leave the flowers outside in their own new home -- but wondered if they would be as unsatisfied as Fly seems to be.