Saturday, January 29, 2005

Four Months

I must admit that there are times when he doesn’t allow me to do anything but pay attention to him. I’m not talking about the moments where I take an hour and simply talk to him, make faces, read, play the guitar, amuse or do whatever I possibly can to share that time with him. Those moments are wonderful, such a delight to watch his face light up and his little mouth try to form words. But there are other times when I’m trying to do something necessary; write, clean the house, do laundry, make dinner, any of the small activities that you either are required to do or merely wish to do to give yourself some amount of joy in your life. And that’s when he decides that what you are doing just isn’t acceptable. You must pay attention to him and it doesn’t matter if the chicken shrivels up to resemble a cockroach Goddamnit, pay attention to me! He doesn’t always cry when he does this. He has a screech or just yells at you or growls like a lion, and sometimes he does cry. It doesn’t matter how he expresses it, what he is saying is that the only acceptable place for him is in your arms.

He’s reached the age where he is now capable of amusing himself. He’s investigating. He’s grabbing things on his own and putting them in his mouth or throwing them across the room (well at least to the floor at his feet). He tells himself stories in a forgotten language. So it isn’t that he absolutely needs me to pay attention to him twenty-four-seven anymore. He’s begun his journey away from us and the day will come where he doesn’t need us anymore at all. When I realize all this I begin to have perspective. He’s only going to be four months at one time in his life. Right now! I want to cherish it, even the moments where I’m screaming inside for him to just give me five more minutes. Because the day will come when I miss it, when I think to myself, ‘Why don’t you growl at me anymore?’

Just a final note. His eyes shimmer and glow like finely polished bronze and he’s still the most beautiful baby in the world. (Oh no, the dreaded parental adoration that plagues all parent’s writing! Yes, it’s true. I love him)

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