Thursday, July 5, 2012

Journal Excerpt


She is all talk and noisy business. She’ll be at the play table, explaining at great length to me what flavor drinks she is serving her animals and what she just bought at the supermarket for them. Meanwhile he is like this silent land rover in the back. No noise, just a determined glint in his eye while he goes for whatever object in the room has caught his interest, leaving a trail of drool in his wake. He feels like the harder one to watch these days, because he’s more silent yet more prone to injury. She announces everything she’s doing and feeling so it’s easy to spot mishaps a mile away. If in doubt, she asks: mommy, do you think I can walk down the stairs without holding the railing? Do you think I can put the cup of water on the table without the coaster?

He grins and looks happy and rarely cries, but don’t be fooled: if he wants it, he gets it. He is not distractible. He does not announce his intentions. He does not heed advice. If he wants that large bottle of hand sanitizer, he will slowly crawl, face-plant, drag and push his way there. If he wants to be fed in the middle of the night, he will cry for two hours until he is. If he doesn’t want to eat those nasty carrots, he will shrink his mouth into a little dot that cannot under any circumstances be nudged open. While smiling and pretending nothing is the matter.

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