Kenny is napping. He is naping for the 19th day in a row, that is, every day that we have been living in Scottsdale. For those of you who may be new to this blog, Kenny did not nap for most of the first 15 months of his life. In fact, his real name was “No Nap Joe.” So I need you to understand that having an hour to myself, a consistant hour that I can actually count on, is entirely new, entirely foreign and even a little wierd. Oh, I’m enjoying it, don’t get me wrong; it’s just that it’s so unusual that the house seems spooky-quiet and I… can I say it?… I miss my little boy! I’m totally not used to a minute without him during the day and here I am, doing laundry without him hanging on my leg or pulling clothes out of the dryer; here I am eating a snack that is neither healthy or kid-friendly without him pleading for a bite; here I am writing on the computer without him begging to sit in my lap so he can mash his little fingers into the keys…
What can I say? I just love my little guy. He has learned to give a killer hug. And he sings and he clings and he dances with the best of them. Just yesterday I was going on about his incessant chatter and yet when he’s asleep, I miss the sounds of his garbled and constant talk. Ah, but he’ll be awake any minute and then it’s off to the races again. These are the best of times, aren’t they? (no, I don’t mean that naptimes are the best of times) I mean that these times, when my baby boy is little and sweet and loves me unconditionally, and yet is able to start telling me what he thinks, what he wants and what he needs. When he loves to hold on tight to my hand at the park, and when he does dive into the fray with the other kids, he always looks up to see where I am, and to make sure I’m watching him.
What a wonder to be loved like this, and to love so much in return.
