Reading Peter Pan was like hearing a beautiful, sometimes scary, and unusually accurate description of our now four-year-old Gage.
I picked this one up mainly at night right before bed and would turn to Steven every other paragraph and say, "Peter Pan is Gage! Listen to this!" I'd read him a paragraph and he'd agree, but not with the same gusto that I felt. He's reading it now and every night he'll laugh out loud at least once or twice and shake his head in disbelief. Gage. We are reading a story about Gage. A story that Gage would write about himself if he could.
I got a little teary at the end because I related so much to Mrs. Darling and even though it's a children's book and it's mostly symbolic and all that... it made me miss my kids! Even when they were playing right next to me I'd feel a pang of loneliness for them and attack them with Mom Hugs which freak them both out a little. But KJ's a good sport about it and lets me squeeze her.
Peter Pan propelled me into cherishing my babies a little more. I try to listen with more enthusiasm and patience when they "talk" (Gage can talk for hours, KJ babbles). I try to give them a few extra kisses at night-night time and sing just one more song. I take a little longer after they're asleep and it's time to turn off all the lights to tuck the blankets more carefully around their chins and make sure their toes are cozy and covered up.
And I guess it makes sense that I always make sure their windows are closed tight. Just in case.