Melancholy

I remember when my son was first born. . .it was a scary and exciting time. Scary because he wasn't exactly breathing when he was born. They had to rush him next door and suction him to clear his lungs. But soon I heard the cat-like cry that let me know he was okay.

I look at him now and sometimes I get emotional because although he is only four years old I can barely remember him at the various stages that he's gone through without the aid of pictures. I guess because I'm so focused on him now, it seems as if he has always been this age. As we sit and have "philosophical" conversations (like about how this boy in his class is not telling the truth about his age because he should be in kindergarten- I swear my son said this!) I marvel that I had anything to do with the formation of this little person. A little person whose intellect is already apparent and has his own thoughts and ideas about how things work. Not to mention he constantly reminds me that God is the only one who knows EVERYTHING.

Sometimes I miss the little baby I use to hold in my arms and kiss in to oblivion. But I absolutely adore the little boy who can walk, talk and use the toilet unassisted. And every now and then he lets me hug him tight and kiss him a hundred times. I know much too soon he will become mute and unaffectionate and I will sit and get melancholy wishing that I had that four year old who would talk and make me laugh everyday. So, I'm treasuring these moments because I know they will be gone all too soon.

(The picture is The Genius at 9 months old. That HAIR was out of control!!!)