he turned one. he turned challenging. he didn't find it necessary to conform to a sleep schedule. he didn't want anything to do with the right foods, or food groups for that matter. and he cried. and he cried and cried and cried. and i was sure something was really wrong with him. and every doctor's appointment said otherwise.
he is naughty at preschool. he frequents time out. he is a boy. lots of jumping. lots of arms and legs everywhere. lots of noise. he has the highest pitch scream known to mankind. but now that i think about it, we don't hear it as often.
i see baby steps in the right direction during these long summer days. as he happily floats around a friend's pool on his noodle. when he catches butterflies. in the moment he tells me why we do not kill bumble bees. when he sees trash on the ground he will tell me it makes his heart sad.
yesterday i watched him button his shorts. he didn't know i was watching or surely he would have waddled over and asked me to do it. he tried four times. he got it. then he pushed his belly out to see if he could pop the button open. i smiled. i know how to do that same trick.
i praised him afterwards. i told him i liked how he didn't give up. he looked at my face.
'mommy, you are smiling because i buttoned my showrts.'
i am. you are a good boy for trying all by yourself. that makes mommy happy.
that night i tucked him in and he counted ten hugs and one kiss and said:
'mommy, you are happy because i caught a beautiful butterfly and i buttoned my showrts'
that's right dane.
he has become a sensitive little soul watching our faces and catching beautiful butterflies. those beautiful butterflies are colorless moths. in his eyes that doesn't matter.
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