He's turning one, I can be sappy dammit

A few years ago, I was standing next to a co-worker at happy hour. A plane flew overhead and he said, “Remember when seeing a plane used to get you all excited when you were a kid? Now it doesn’t. Everything gets dulled down by the repetition of existence.”

At the time I thought, what a buzzkill. Give me another vodka tonic, fast.

But now, a day before Junior turns one, I find myself thinking back to that moment. Junior’s starting to notice the world around him: birds, bugs, trucks, fish. And it’s like I get to see it all again, too.

I'm not trying to be overly sappy about this: Sometimes I do find myself thinking, all this feigned excitement over a smelly, nasty truck? But other times I catch myself wondering where I've been? My coworker was right about the repetition of existence. The world becomes so familiar and expected, you're on autopilot and you don't even know it.

And then you have a baby.

And realize everyone was right: everything changes.

Because really, can you remember the last time you wanted to show someone the world?

Honey, it's time to get a pool

Summer picnic #398.

Today, my 92-year-old grandmother sat across from us and taught Junior to stick out his tongue, then tried to feed him a Freezie Pop. My step-sister ridiculed me for feeding Junior “specks” of hamburg (she has four kids so she knows). And I snapped at my mother for snatching my son from me one too many times (I couldn’t help it—I’m working now and I wanted to hold my baby, dammit!).

Junior kept pointing at the inground pool and the kids splashing around.

“Not yet, sweetie,” I told him.

Everyone at the table looked at me with that face: you know, the you’re-so-over-protective-your-kid-might-as-well-be-in-a-bubble face.

“He’s too little!”

More looks.

So I marched us over to the pool and sat on the steps in the shallow end. Then I swished Junior around. He was euphoric. He sat on one of the steps and splashed and shrieked and flailed his arms. People I didn’t even know came over to remark on what a good time he was having.

All the while I kept looking down at the back of his overalls—which were criss-crossed in my hands so he wouldn’t slip through my fingers—his curly hair, the nape of his neck. And I kept thinking, I am pouring my soul into this child and every day letting him go and it is enough to burst and break my heart at the same time.

He’ll be one in a week. He’s not a newborn, he’s not even a baby. He’s a little boy. And this is just the beginning.