Tuesday, December 1, 2009
He turns his head to look at me. He sees his mom. His mouth gapes in a signature grin. And then he keeps turning and sees something better.
A blue fluid-filled fish. A teether. An object of desire.
He is more like me now, I think. Instinct mixing with and giving way to control.
His eyes widen, impossibly long eyelashes opening like a flower's petals to the morning sun. He purses his lips and sets his jaw. He rocks, hands still grasping tiny feet. He rolls on his side.
He wants that fish.
He lifts his right arm, and like a fly swatter honing in on its prey, swoops down on it.
Every movement with intent.
This time he connects, gathering the fish by its tail into his meaty palm. Eyes wider than ever, he reels in his catch, bringing its fin closer and closer toward his mouth. When he finally gets it there, he rubs it against his gums, so pleased, so satisfied. Intention fulfilled.
Then he drops it. Lets it go. Turns away.
Looking for the next challenge.
It's a magical thing. Bearing witness to your child starting to think, starting to work to get what he wants. Starting to become human.
It's a scary thing. Watching your baby becoming a child. Starting to become human: wanting, wanting, wanting.
Then wanting more.
In what ways do you see your own habits reflected in your child(ren)? Does it hearten you or frighten you?