I woke up this morning when it was light outside. Without anyone screaming "Cars!" or wandering into my bedroom wishing to discuss poop. It's a great way to start the day, and I highly recommend it.
Sam and I walked downstairs to find Max snuggled on the couch with a blanket and some books, reading quietly. He shined a huge grin at us and proudly announced, with a dramatic blanket flourish, that he had a baby in his belly.
With blanket pulled back we saw that, indeed, Max was expecting under his pajama top. I truly could not have been happier with my offspring at this moment due to my well-rested state, so I played along with all the child-like excitement that I could muster sans caffeine:
"Oh, what are you going to name your baby?"
"Mommy, I don't know yet. We haven't found out if it's going to be a baby boy, or a baby girl, or a baby dino."
And with all the joy and pride of any new father, he happily produced a beautiful baby dino. To celebrate, there was oatmeal and milk for all.
Baby dino was later named "Lovely Tovely" by his father.
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During a car ride yesterday, when Mr. Wonderful and I were in deep conversation, Max chimed from the back asking if his car seat was real. And if my hair was real. And if the song on the radio was real.
"What do you mean by 'real', Max?" I asked, and he repeated the questions to us.
"Do you mean is it alive?" I asked, trying to see where he was coming from.
"Nnnnooooo. I mean is it real?" he replied emphatically and with pleading in his sweet voice.
"Having an existential crisis back there, buddy?" Mr. Wonderful inquired. (Earlier in the day we had been asked if Max had difficulty grasping abstract concepts. Apparently not.)
If love is what truly makes us real (philosophical manifesto of that haunting tale, The Velveteen Rabbit), then I suppose the answer to my little Max is, yes.
Yes. All that you see and all that you are, my dear little existential rock mover, is very real.
All the love and light that you and your sweet brother bring to this world make it all very, very real.
You are so deeply loved.
Keep it real, kiddo. Keep it real.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
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1 comment:
It sounds like a wonderful morning. A couple days ago I enjoyed the sweet smell of the part of the muffin that fell in the oven the day before burning and a big stinky from my loving son. We've had oatmeal since.
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