'Goodnight Baby Boy'
'Daddy, I'm not a baby anymore, I'm eleven'
So ricocheted the words from my eldest son's lips last Saturday at bedtime. We had said our prayers and his (vast array of pillows) were aligned in a haphazard, yet perfectly aligned, manner. His favourite blanky cocooned his body and my goodnight kisses still tingled on his face. The night light was on (despite the vocal protestations of his brother some 30 minutes earlier before he had submitted to sleep) and we had said our prayers. I seem to recall a discussion on why the Queen of England shouldn't be the Queen of Canada (I am raising an eco-terrorist-anti-monarchist).....a discussion conducted despite losing consciousness momentarily because of the cheese like emanations from his feet. His clothes lay strewn across the floor and his coat that he had been reminded three times to hang up, wasn't.
Earlier that day we had walked hand in hand across the parking lot before entering the grocery store. Even earlier, I had requested and received a public kiss.....horror of horrors!....and not just a peck on the cheek I might add! It had been a big 'ole wet lip smacker followed by guffaws of laughter as I had to dry my face!
Around 11pm the night before a bleary eyed eleven year old had stumbled into my room seeking solace and comfort after a bad dream. We had sat and rocked together for a good 15 minutes, after which I had sucked out any remaining bad dreams from his head (a la The Green Mile), before returning him to the comfort of his bed. He, of course, had no memory of these events the following morning.
See, despite his most fervent self proclamations, my Man-Child of eleven years old isn't quite ready to cast aside the mantle of 'baby boy'. When he is either at his most vulnerable, or when the warm grasp of his Father's hand is a welcome home, the little man reverts back to being a baby boy.
And I love it.
I don't think I will ever be ready to say 'goodbye' to my baby boys. I'll watch as they get taller, grow whiskers and become the wonderful men i know they will be. I'll watch Zachary as he tries to understand this world and balance compassion with directness. I'll watch Logan as he strives to find order in an ever changing world. I'll watch them love and be loved. I'll watch them bring light to the lives of others. But as I do, always, always looking at me will be the eyes of my baby boys.
I will still see the wide eyed wonder, the inquisitive mind, the delicious directness and the compassionate hand that were gifted to Zachary at his birth.
I will still see the deep and warm heart, the desire to serve and the strength to hold firm to a belief that was gifted to Logan at his birth.
I will still see my baby boys.
So get used to it Zachary.....and you too Logi Bear! You will always be my baby boys and there isn't anything you can do about it. Now come over here and give your Old Man a big wet smoochy woochy kiss.
'Daddy, I'm not a baby anymore, I'm eleven'
So ricocheted the words from my eldest son's lips last Saturday at bedtime. We had said our prayers and his (vast array of pillows) were aligned in a haphazard, yet perfectly aligned, manner. His favourite blanky cocooned his body and my goodnight kisses still tingled on his face. The night light was on (despite the vocal protestations of his brother some 30 minutes earlier before he had submitted to sleep) and we had said our prayers. I seem to recall a discussion on why the Queen of England shouldn't be the Queen of Canada (I am raising an eco-terrorist-anti-monarchist).....a discussion conducted despite losing consciousness momentarily because of the cheese like emanations from his feet. His clothes lay strewn across the floor and his coat that he had been reminded three times to hang up, wasn't.
Earlier that day we had walked hand in hand across the parking lot before entering the grocery store. Even earlier, I had requested and received a public kiss.....horror of horrors!....and not just a peck on the cheek I might add! It had been a big 'ole wet lip smacker followed by guffaws of laughter as I had to dry my face!
Around 11pm the night before a bleary eyed eleven year old had stumbled into my room seeking solace and comfort after a bad dream. We had sat and rocked together for a good 15 minutes, after which I had sucked out any remaining bad dreams from his head (a la The Green Mile), before returning him to the comfort of his bed. He, of course, had no memory of these events the following morning.
See, despite his most fervent self proclamations, my Man-Child of eleven years old isn't quite ready to cast aside the mantle of 'baby boy'. When he is either at his most vulnerable, or when the warm grasp of his Father's hand is a welcome home, the little man reverts back to being a baby boy.
And I love it.
I don't think I will ever be ready to say 'goodbye' to my baby boys. I'll watch as they get taller, grow whiskers and become the wonderful men i know they will be. I'll watch Zachary as he tries to understand this world and balance compassion with directness. I'll watch Logan as he strives to find order in an ever changing world. I'll watch them love and be loved. I'll watch them bring light to the lives of others. But as I do, always, always looking at me will be the eyes of my baby boys.
I will still see the wide eyed wonder, the inquisitive mind, the delicious directness and the compassionate hand that were gifted to Zachary at his birth.
I will still see the deep and warm heart, the desire to serve and the strength to hold firm to a belief that was gifted to Logan at his birth.
I will still see my baby boys.
So get used to it Zachary.....and you too Logi Bear! You will always be my baby boys and there isn't anything you can do about it. Now come over here and give your Old Man a big wet smoochy woochy kiss.
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