Boy.

Thank you for letting me rock you to sleep tonight. After the dinnertime scream fest, the hitting and kicking and whining, the writhing and sand throwing and back arching, and especially after the Daddy love fest these past few days, I was starting to think maybe it was me. That’s right: I was taking your irrational rage personally. Quite frankly, I needed to smell your hair for a few minutes without being head-butted in the mouth. I needed to hold you still  against my chest instead of trying to distract you from climbing me. I needed some time with you that didn’t involve prying a piece of tape out of your mouth or ensuring that you don’t lick the dog or guarding my knife and fork from your quick hands at dinner. I know you are probably dreaming about climbing the stairs again, or subconsciously working out how to get inside the dishwasher, but your sweet baby snores have lulled me into a state of peaceful rest–and I’ll take it, along with the wildness that is your every waking moment. Rave on, boy. I wouldn’t have you any other way.


One thought on “Boy.

  1. Gah. It is my first night back to work and I swear every writer I love on the internet is writing beautiful things about babies becoming grown ups under their noses and without permission and I am dying.

    Someone who is not me put my baby to bed for the first time ever tonight and even though it is his father and even though I know it went great I am still sad.

    Thank you for writing again and also I hate you. Maybe mine will be the one that does not grow up (although I don’t want that either, man parenting is confusing)

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