Little Jack Horner
Ian isn’t the most graceful child I’ve ever seen, but he’s as nimble as a mountain goat. A fact which, for some reason, is very easy to forget.
Ian isn’t the most graceful child I’ve ever seen, but he’s as nimble as a mountain goat. A fact which, for some reason, is very easy to forget.
And one night, before we realized he knew the word, he lifts his head, points to the sky, takes a deep breath and shouts, ‘Moon!’ Well, it sounds more like ‘noon’ or ‘dune’. But still.
We jumped, we twirled, we hopped, the three of us shaking our groove thangs to the Bee Gees, Glen Miller and Journey. It was a blast!
It’s a championship bout between the Ian who climbs to the top of the jungle-gym by himself and the Ian who snuggles in our laps just before bedtime.
Three problems:
1) Ian is not allowed to touch Mommy’s soda.
2) Ian is not allowed to touch anything on the table.
3) Ian is very much aware of 1 and 2.
I’d been looking forward to the time alone, and the chance to take care of some really important things. Movies. Video games. Sleeping late. Having a car. It was a bit like my junior year in high school.
Even if Ian managed to look past my finger, it was still a bit like asking him to find Waldo.
‘…the white-suited doctor was replaced by a black-suited doctor, who wrestled, tumbled and noogied the chimp into exhaustion.’
I straightened, and he looked up at me. “What’s up,” I asked. Then he hugged my arm. “Aw, I love you, too,” I said.
The first time this happened, I was ever so surprised to find myself sucking on Ian’s pacifier as I buckled his seatbelt.