Sunday, February 16, 2014
I catch these glimpses of you. Once or twice a week we meet around a table. Your Mom. Your Dad. Grammie. Pop. Sometimes Jess, sometimes your Uncle Jason. Wyatt. Your Aunt Madalyn, your cousin Ava Dee. There is this ritualistic meet and you've grown accustomed to our faces and you smile when you see us and that smile of your's. Ridiculous. It makes me grin to even consider it. I don't know about your parents but I think the rest of us would keep you just like this. Just as you are now with some new trick every week, the latest of which is a blown french kiss. This, of course, is more preferable than the ones you attempt to plant on our faces.
You are so sweet.
You dance, have an affection for rap and Pat's drumming in Howlin' for You. Of course, that was last week and you could be meditating to some Ravi Shankar by now because little bird, you just seem to accept and love so easily. Thank you for that. You teach us.
You have yet to firmly walk but I suspect the few steps you have taken were simply for applause and when you're ready you will finally grow a tooth. Because. This is your world and to be a part of it, even in these glimpses, is such a gift, a blessing.
Happy Birthday, little bird.
Today I am grateful for your presence.