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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