This Moment

September 20, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

I remember the first time he tried CD's infamous ketchup spaghetti. I was sure Bear had more sophistication, even at 9 months old, than to like it.

I was terribly, terribly wrong.

Turns out, like his father, he thinks ketchup is a food group.

I never thought I would forget that day. When he grabbed chopped-up strands of pasta with two chubby, fumbling hands and shoved the food in the general direction of his mouth.

Oh! We exclaimed. The coordination! The concentration! Our boy, he is a genius!

See the way he gets almost some of it in that mouth?

And about the 3rd helping, we cut him off. Wondering what so much of a new food would do to his immature system. He tried screaming, shouting, and grabbing. And then he sadly realized that there would be no more.

Seems like yesterday.

It is going too fast, Bear's childhood.

Sunday was his first big-boy birthday party. He'd picked a local children's gym and invited everyone I would let him invite.

It was a great party.

A party attended by kids of all shapes, colors, genders, and sizes.

Differences that are, to Bear, nothing. Because my son doesn't know there is a world that says otherwise. (And idealistically, I wish he never does)

All he saw were friends.

My son is 5. And he is amazing.

He jumped, and balanced, and climbed with the rest of the kids. He was a copper-haired blur, laughing and stretching and running. He climbed up onto the edge of the ball pit, and dove in - fearless and giggling.

He radiated joy.

And I realized, in this moment, the world he knows is fair and just. People in trouble are helped. People in danger are protected. People hurt are all given the best healing available. And bad guys wear distinctive clothing so you know which ones they are.

In this moment, littering is a serious crime.

In this moment, my son loves everything about himself. His parts and his thoughts delight him. His own opinion of himself is strong and confident and happy. He shows and expects respect.

In this moment, my son has faith in Santa Claus and the Yule Elves. He is entranced by fireflies and rainbows and hermit crabs. He dances whenever there is music. He sings whenever he knows the words. His mistakes leave no scars only lessons.

And at one point he came running out of the gym to get himself some water. As he gulped, he leaned against me.

And I held firm in my spot, to support him.

He knew I would. He counted on me to.

Because I am Mommy.

And then he ran off again.

I guess i have been obsessing on what the doctor said last Friday, and that I have somehow put my son's health at risk. Because Dee walked up and wrapped her arm around me and whispered in my ear to look around. To register that Bear looked just like the rest of his friends. To accept, once and for all, that my mother's compass knows True North and it is OK to tell even an upscale doctor that they are full of it.

I nodded, and wiped away the tears.

"Elizabeth, look around," she urged. "See Bear? See him? See how healthy, and happy he is? See his world? See this moment?"

And as embaressed as I was to be weeping up at my son's big boy party... I understood.

Share: Delicious! | Stumble It! |   Slashdot It!