Tuesday, July 24, 2007
A real boy
Sometimes having an infant in the house is like having my very own Pinocchio. He's pretty affable. He does what I want. He eats when I give him food. He plays when I give him a toy. He smiles when I smile. Sort of like he's my little puppet. But recently he's taken to reminding me that he is, in fact, a real boy --not a puppet. This morning I was racing around trying to pick up the house for playgroup. Why I pick up my house so that 4 crazy-fun-three year olds and a couple of their toddler-siblings can run circles around it is beyond me. But I was doing just that. Cutting up nectarines and blueberries and hoisting a jar of marshmallows out of the pantry -- 'cause that was all I could come up with for snacks. ANYWAY (tangent!) I put Holden in his room with his toy basket in front of him while I ran around like a beheaded chicken. I sort of even forgot he was in there because he was so happy and quiet. As I jotted into Jackson's room I caught a glimpse of my almost-9-month-old son alone in his room. He was sitting there examining a toy, smiling at it, sort of giggling and cooing. He was in his own world. He had specifically picked that toy out of the basket and was practically carrying on a conversation with it. It was a quaint little scene that I wish I could sear to my memory. It was a true reminder that my baby boy is not a puppet at all. He's a real boy. And he's changing and growing faster than I can keep up with. Got no strings...in deed.