Overwhelming love

Overwhelming love. I lay in bed at night and smile to myself while I think about that goofy little toddler. Being laid up for so long has helped me see things in a different light. I just sit here and watch him.

I watch him run quickly to follow his dada. Not letting anything escape his watchful eye. And if he should escape him, he runs through the house saying, “Daaada! Daaada?” Then yells, “hi!” once he finds him. Or other times decides it’s a game to find dada and yells, “boo!” when he finds him. I listen to him run to the laundry room to get his coat when his dada leaves. I listen to him as he struggles to get his coat on. He comes around the corner with one are in the wrong sleeve and grunts for help. He carries shoes into the living room while saying, “shhhsss.” He runs to the front door and rummages through the hats and mittens. He puts a stalking hat on and runs into the living room to show off his work, while grinning ear-to-ear. He brings along a mitten for me to put on and then he claps his hands to listen to the sound.

When someone gives him something to do, he runs with such intensity. A chubby-faced toddler on a very serious mission. One hand swinging quickly at his side, while his chubby feet move as quickly as they can. His chubby cheeks shake with each step. Eyes down as he concentrates on the next step. His right thumb in his mouth. Serious business happens at our house. He takes each job very seriously, even if you don’t know he has one. Miss a chance to include him and his face crumbles. Lips curl up. Eyes shut. Tears fall. To the ground he quickly slumps. His hands come up to his eyes to rub away the tears as he expresses his sadness in not helping. {I use the opportunity to check the status of his teeth.}

I hear him huffing and puffing in the hallway. I wiggle around on the couch so I can see him as he rounds the corner. He’s carrying a basket that was filled with toys. Grunting and groaning as his little arms hold on to the handles and he struggles with each step to just.make.it.to.mama. He hands me the basket and releases a huge sigh of relief. I look in the basket and see that it is mostly empty, but there are a few toys. At the end of the night, without suggestion, he picks up his basket and starts the long trek back to his room. Where it landed, I have no idea. I’m sure in the middle of the floor and not back on the shelf, but that’s meaningless to me. He picked up his toys without me asking him to. He remembered that he brought something from his room that should be taken back. {Let’s not talk about the other bedroom toys that are blinding me with their primary brightness on the living room floor.}

I watch him from across the room as he sits at the table like a big boy. When I broke my foot he was still using the tray on his chair. He was sitting next to the table. Now, he’s sitting at the table without the tray. He’s eating off of plates and out of bowls {he was before too}, but they sit ON.THE.TABLE. I watch the concentration it takes to shovel piece after piece into his chubby face. Sometimes using his silverware and somethings using his hands. I don’t care about silverware or hands. It’s a learning experience for him. I watch him make his goldfish “swim” like daddy used to do to him. I watch him sign more as he tries to say the word. It sounds a lot like “mama.” I watch him vigorously sign please as he says “pees.” Please comes more naturally now, almost without suggestion. Thank you is fewer and further between without prompting.

I pull out my phone to take a picture of him. He glances up from playing with a car. He crinkles his nose and smiles as he walks at me. He wants to see the picture. He wants to have the phone. He quickly puts it up to his ear and says, “ello?” I distract him by pulling up a video of him playing drums. He watches with astonishment. I wonder if he knows that’s him. He has to, right? He sees Bryan in the background and says, “Dada!” The video ends and he tries to make it play again. We watch it numerous times and he glances at his drums each time it ends. In an effort to hide my phone, I tell him to go play his drums. I watch him grab his drum sticks and arrange the drums how he wants them {two drums and a tupperware}. He bangs on them with a rhythm I don’t have. I assume this is a natural toddler thing until I see a child older than him bang on them. I realize that Maximus has picked up much more from his daddy. I hope that he’ll enjoy music as much too.

This little 18-month old is fascinating to watch. He’s always busy learning and doing. If there is a bright side to being on bed rest, it is watching this little guy. My heart was pretty full of love for this little guy. Watching him learning and grow every day only makes it overflow.