Boyhood

I have been doing the mommy thing for almost 15 months now. My son has grown from a tiny 8 pound bundle all curled against my chest to a 23 pound wild boy who runs around our apartment in and out of every room yelling like Tarzan out of sheer boy instinct. He was not long ago just a tiny thing, so dependent, so vulnerable. And now, though still small and still needing me, he can do so much on his own and wants to do so much more. He wants to be big, I can see it in everything he does. He is on a quest to grow up. Already. Which is why I am completely ok with the phase he's in lately: mama-clinging. 

When we come home in the evenings, he attaches himself to me like a barnacle and if Daddy tries to interact with him or hold him or make eye contact, he cries and burrows deeper into my shoulder. He usually warms up to daddy eventually, but if he's tired or hungry, mama is the only one for him.

Roger is an outgoing little dude in general, but I'm so glad he's also the little joey to my kangaroo and wants to be near me all the time. He'll grow out of this, like he's grown out of waking every two hours at night, but I'll be a little sad when he does. It's not convenient to have a little Roger-fanny-pack while I'm trying to cook dinner or do the dishes, but it is a special time in our mother-son relationship and I know it will be over before I know it. So I choose to enjoy it. Soak it up. 

Boyhood is sweet energy. Rough and tender at once. He climbs everything, moves everything, and the fastest speed he can muster is the speed at which he does everything. . . then too often falls and gets hurt and is a puddle in my arms. The good Lord knew boys need mamas.

As a nanny, I get a bigger brood to nestle under my wings than the one little bird I call my own. These late summer days have been spent outside, trying to keep these little people safe while letting them explore and discover without my protective shadow lurking too closely at their heels. The almost-3-year-old is Roger's nearest playtime role model, and he gravitates toward the sandbox when we play outside. I've recently embraced the sandbox as a play area for Roger too, and he already loves it, even though he has no concept yet that sand in mouth/nose/eyes is really not fun. It's pretty adorable though when he tries to wipe sand out of his mouth by rubbing his tongue with his sand-encased fingers. I had to show him he can spit to get the sand out, and needless to say, spitting is a discovery my wild boy was all for. Gotta be sure I censor that new skill to appropriate situations.

The way they learn from their play is one of the things I find most fascinating and wondrous about childhood. They teach themselves about life, drawing from Creation and that deep knowledge of their souls. It's no wonder Jesus spoke so highly of the faith of children. They go on instinct. They humbly soak up what's around them and are always asking questions. Maybe questions we grown ups have forgotten are important; to which we have forgotten we don't know all the answers.

Dig, run, chase bugs, pick apples, find big stones, swing, slide, climb; simple, lovely stuff. Well worth the thorough bath needed after. I'm so glad I get to be mama bird and nanny in their adventurous little world.