Week of March 26, 2003
Owen continues to charm us. Perhaps this is the honey that makes the tests of will we endure more palatable. Much of Owen's testing comes when he succumbs to fatigue and frustration. It's not easy being almost-two, when what you want to do and what you can do are at opposite ends of the pole. It's particularly hard to keep it together when you're tired, or hungry. Owen doesn't have the years of practice that the rest of us do in suppressing our grumpy, fatigued, snipey selves. He is what he feels. And that's wonderful and awful, in steady rotation. We get earnest kisses and sun-bright smiles, and we also get his whiney, tearful, disassembling self. There's really no good way to hear someone say "No!" and toddlers get thwarted an awful lot. We try to head off what we can, but things involving his safety aren't negotiable. Part of his job is to figure out what's negotiable and what's not, and what happens when he pushes us. Our job as parents is to ride the waves without squashing him too much.
Owen has been practicing on stairs quite a bit. Not just getting up or down, but getting up or down on two legs, more like adults do. This is tough when you're just learning how to do it, and your legs are short. He's had enough challenge that he's letting us help him ("Hel! Hel!"). His stubborn nature defers to practicality, which is wonderful. In this case, holding our hands is acceptable for a brief while, long enough for us to help him up or down the stairs. Up and down, up and down. I'm amazed at (and jealous of) Owen's focus and attention span. He's really trying to figure out how it works, and how to get better at it. Of course, there is the distraction that it's sort of fun to swing up and down stairs, while holding our hands, but there's room for play too.
My favorite moments are when Owen is nestled into me in the early morning, or when he's picked out a book he can't wait to read. Or, well, anytime he's laughing or smiling. Both Scott and I tend to play with him on the floor, which involves a lot of climbing (often over our head onto and off of the couch). We're realized our noses and various body parts are very resilient to the accidental whack of a foot, and it's worth it to us to be able to play with him so freely. Owen is ticklish which is a quick shortcut for a laugh, but he also has a nifty sense of humor.
I love it when Owen nestles into me and rubs his head against my head, pressing a cheek to mine or forehead. Our cat Noah will do this also, and while I attributed it to their affectionate natures, I begin to wonder if I partly encouraged this by rubbing their heads with mine when they were babies. Did I brainwash them when they were wee, and luck out that they were malleable? Each head rub melts my heart, just as I am enthralled each time Owen will duck down to me to make his eyes meet directly with mine. This contact make me feel like he is part of my soul, and I love him so much it aches to know that someday he'll be living his own life, completely separate and even hiding his True Nature from us, his gawky, out-of-it, impossibly uncool parents. I know it's our job to help into the world, and away from us, and it hurts a bit already to think of losing him when I love him more than I knew I could love anything or anyone. (Sorry Scott, but I know this is true for you too.)
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