Monday, September 24, 2007

Taylor Is 7 Months Old

Friday our son turned 7 months old. Already, his face is beginning to change again and he is determined to get out of his crib on his own. So far, he’s only managed to lift himself to a standing position by holding onto the slats or poking his long, muscular, legs through the front but his resolve is unshakable. He will do this one day. He knows it and I know it and I will not be ready. I finally understand the syndrome in which parents continue to treat their children like babies years after the capable and self-sufficient offspring have moved out, purchased homes and started families of their own. The baby stage is so very short. I remember laying our son on the couch and walking away, knowing he’d be there upon my return. Now, I can’t get him to sit still through a bottle feeding. He wants to talk through it, grab things through it, play with the tray through it … Sometimes I just sit and stare at him, which does nothing for my writing career. And on Friday, he reached a new milestone when he began chanting “dadadada …” throughout the day. He was so excited, for a long time he couldn’t stop. I concluded at the time that, in fact, our child was a genius!

Though it drizzled that morning, I thought we needed to do something to celebrate his life on earth for seven full months. I happened upon a children’s gym surfing the Internet which was open to children 0 – 5 years old. I thought this would be a wonderful experience because he loves scooting after the older ones. I had the entire day planned out but, of course, as traffic in LA would have it, nothing fit within the strict time parameters I intended. After running a mile at the gym, soaking in the sauna and relaxing in the steam room, I went to the gym’s childcare room so I could scoop my “kid” up and rush to the kid’s gym on the other side of town. He was sitting up in the Calvin Klein jeans and t-shirt my aunt purchased him weeks prior. There were no other children in the room. He was under the close supervision of a babysitter, playing a keyboard. He sang and hit the keys with extreme pleasure—the kind that adults rarely experience. I thought to myself, he doesn’t need a gym. He’s about as happy as he would be with a room full of children running around. That’s just his personality—plays well alone. It’s a blessing all parents don’t get to experience. So I stand and bask in it, realizing how rich I am.