Lucas is walking! He's been hovering in the almost walking zone for a few weeks, but really started to walk for locomotion, not just practice, about 5 days ago. This means that my prediction that he'd be walking at 10 months was true. (Yeah for Mom!) He's now eleven months and has started to pick up the pace a bit already. He does his best barefoot of course, his little toes gripping the floor as he moves along, but even in his new sporty Vans he's getting around. He protested their existence at first, but he's already learned that once mom has her mind made up there is little use in complaining.
It's a big thing this walking business. I'm loving it, he's loving it and David is running for cover when he needs too. We've taught David to "go high" when he wants some space from the ever attentive and affectionate Baby Monster. So David keeps company with his dinosaurs and new V-tech computer that Bart gave him in the window seat quite often. It's better than hitting Lucas or knocking him over or hearing them whine at each other. The window seat is David's place, so when Lucas gets to visit, he is just ecstatic.
Speaking of ecstasy, Lucas has three things he is in love with right now. The broom, the swiffer mop, and the dishwasher. I had to put the broom in another closet because he was licking it way too much for my comfort. Ever since he could crawl he has loved the broom. He did and does chase me around when I sweep trying to catch it or disrupt the pile of dirt it creates. I used to play defense with my leg to keep him at bay; now I'm just fast. The swiffer mop is lighter and cleaner (as I remove the disposable dust thing) and it's a close second to the broom. If the pantry door opens he is there rooting around for it. He wields it like a knight's lance or javelin depending on his mood. Now that he can stand, he yells with utter delight, handle in hand, one foot off the floor, ready for action. Then there is the dishwasher. Ohhhh the delight of the dishwasher. At first, it was the soap dispenser...Hey this opens and closes. Then came the bottom rack...Hey, I can move this in and out and pull things out of here. Then the ultimate discovery: If no one is looking, I can spread eagle face down on the door and lick that cool, cool plastic. Ohhh, it's just heavenly.
He's still in the mouth-as-primary-sensory-unit stage, so it's only natural that the dishwasher door, broom and swiffer should be licked. What else is it there for? When removed from these beloved items he protests like you've just chastised him for some wrongdoing. It cracks me up, these utilitarian love affairs. I can only hope that his infatuation will stick around through his teenage years, when he can put them to use as intended, and wonder what will come next.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
four years in the making
The boy turns four on Wednesday. Four years in the making and he's turning out better than I could have imagined. Sometimes it seems like I remember every second of the last four years and others, well, find me projecting a year ahead, to kindergarten, and the incredible loss I will feel. He'll stop being my superkid sidekick and start moving in the world as his own independent person. It's a belly-tumbling feeling I have about this. I grow nervous for him, his safety, and his tender heart while being acutely aware that he must learn to fly on his own.
We take small steps already. Lately, when David goes to gym class, I wait a few minutes, then take the baby and go get coffee. I've been leaving more often, knowing that it's me that needs to get comfortable with this separation. Last week, he got scared and cried at the make-believe bear that jumped out from behind the mats. I found this out afterward from the teacher that shelters him in her own sweet way. I felt guilty that I wasn't there to calm his beating heart and grateful that someone else could. I know that there will be more heartstopping moments in his life that are bigger and more significant than make-believe bears. I'll count myself fortunate to hear of them via a second-hand account, and I know that some will go unmentioned, un-named.
It's a daunting thought, this nagging question: have I done enough to prepare him for the world outside my reach? Have I done enough? At night I pray with him. I thank God for the gift of him, for his tender heart, for his kind spirit, his strong mind and body. I pray these things out loud so David knows that this is how I see him and what I hope for his future. I love him for his sensitivity and still, I try to shore it up, to encourage toughness as a virtue. I so don't want him to be the one that gets picked on. It's a fine line to walk as a parent...when to push, when to hold, when to let him find his own way.
I held him this morning on the sofa. As we talked about the coming year, I could already feel the creeping pangs of loss for his little boy smile; a smile that remains innocent of the cruelty and emotional perils that childhood can bring. Already, I grieve his eminent understanding that the world is not always good and kind. He's my son, my lovely and adored son and he begins to move beyond me. Four years old. Four years of teaching and learning and growing and loving for both of us. They are not wanton or lean years. They have been full and well lived, and I will tuck their sweet memory inside my heart as gentle reminders for all the changes that will surely come.
We take small steps already. Lately, when David goes to gym class, I wait a few minutes, then take the baby and go get coffee. I've been leaving more often, knowing that it's me that needs to get comfortable with this separation. Last week, he got scared and cried at the make-believe bear that jumped out from behind the mats. I found this out afterward from the teacher that shelters him in her own sweet way. I felt guilty that I wasn't there to calm his beating heart and grateful that someone else could. I know that there will be more heartstopping moments in his life that are bigger and more significant than make-believe bears. I'll count myself fortunate to hear of them via a second-hand account, and I know that some will go unmentioned, un-named.
It's a daunting thought, this nagging question: have I done enough to prepare him for the world outside my reach? Have I done enough? At night I pray with him. I thank God for the gift of him, for his tender heart, for his kind spirit, his strong mind and body. I pray these things out loud so David knows that this is how I see him and what I hope for his future. I love him for his sensitivity and still, I try to shore it up, to encourage toughness as a virtue. I so don't want him to be the one that gets picked on. It's a fine line to walk as a parent...when to push, when to hold, when to let him find his own way.
I held him this morning on the sofa. As we talked about the coming year, I could already feel the creeping pangs of loss for his little boy smile; a smile that remains innocent of the cruelty and emotional perils that childhood can bring. Already, I grieve his eminent understanding that the world is not always good and kind. He's my son, my lovely and adored son and he begins to move beyond me. Four years old. Four years of teaching and learning and growing and loving for both of us. They are not wanton or lean years. They have been full and well lived, and I will tuck their sweet memory inside my heart as gentle reminders for all the changes that will surely come.
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