Boy Lilliam!

This morning the light was a grayish white that filters in through a lazy marine layer. We have large windows in our kitchen and living area so the house seemed filled with this cool light as William walked past one of the windows leading a Mylar balloon that has deflated to the point where it eerily hovers about two feet off of the ground and seems to breathe in reaction to a passing breeze or body. He has an interesting relationship to balloons these days, filled with both fascination and dread. The other day he was startled by the balloon as it limped above his pint-sized table and chairs. He clung to my leg peeking out from behind me until adequately convinced that it was just his balloon. “Yeah, Just Ballooon” he repeated back with a nervous giggle, and stayed away from his table. So I was surprised to see him pulling that very balloon, spooky as it may be, along by its lavender ribbon as he walked across the room and through that cold light into the den where the balloon was left out of sight to commune with the television. I was also struck with the specific-ness of the moment. It was a moment only experienced in the company of a small child and it felt all at once sweet, surreal, kind of sad, a little magical and very fleeting.

But what moment isn’t fleeting? Especially in a house with a 2 year old and a baby? Jacob rolled from his tummy to his back the other day and all I could think is that I’m not paying attention. I must not be. How can he be rolling over already? Have I missed something in the bustle of getting everyone dressed and out of the house in the morning or fed, washed and into bed at night? Jacob is so easy going (at this moment at least) that I worry that he is neglected because of it. Everything is a negotiation with William, a negotiation on the verge of elation or devastation. This is not a bad thing; I'm fascinated by the complex little person he's becoming, but it is all-encompacing and exhausting. Jacob just seems happy to be here, and like anything more is cake. He sleeps like I never imagined a baby could sleep. He eats like a champ (like a 16 pound champ) and smiles and laughs at the slightest attention. When I’m changing his top and I’m pulling his arms out of his sleeves or trying to put them in he gets all giggly and excited like it’s a fantastic game. It lights up my morning, until I worry that this poor little guys is so desperate for play that he thinks that changing his shirt is the most fun around. It’s not true. He is not neglected or lacking in play time. But I still worry. Everything is just going so fast that I feel like one of those game show contestants in that glass box with one minute to pick up as many dollars I can. There's this loud frantic music blasting and the bills are being whipped around like a tornado and it’s not even money but time or bits of my life - something like that – and I’m only going to end up with a couple sweaty handfuls, some new wrinkles and an unshakable memory of a little boy walking a fading balloon.

But before I become this crazy old lady I have to relay one of the cutest daily Q&As I have with William. When he gets out of the bath or shower I wrap him up as a towel burrito and put him up on his stool in front of the mirror. I rub him in the towel fast and tickely and ask "Who is this boy?" and he will reply with glee "BOY LILLIAM!" and we will repeat this faster and more frenzied until it turns into a crazed tickeling with William squealing "boy lilliam! boy lilliam!" And then he is dry and warm and ready for lotion and pjs. fun fun fun.