It's hard to write the first letter, to much pressure to be perfect, creative, useful in some way.
But I shall start anyway, imperfectly.
My heeled boots, which I never get to wear now, are sitting by the couch as the little man watches a silly TV program. I took a communiversity class last night, and dressed the roll of a person who leaves the house without juice boxes and raisins.
I've never watched so much television, nor do I want my child to. I don't know if I should push the issue of turning it off or just hope he gets it out of his system. At least he watches it upside down, with one foot behind his head, the other up in the air.
I just keep trying to offer more fun options; learning toys, creative toys, noisy toys. Eventually he picks up a rolling suitcase and begins rolling 'his baby' in it. My son believes he is currently carrying a child in his belly, feeding it through the umbilical cord. Once, I tried to give him the scoop, but it didn't sit well with him, so I let it go.
Sailor will be three next week. I know this is the age he is supposed to start becoming this separate being and finding his own way, but two was sure a lot easier than three is looking...
I miss my 'rules guy', the one who told me the rules; the one who told other kids the rules. A kid held something out the car window he told them so seriously "It will be gone." He would tell me not to touch dangerous things.
Now? I can't keep him from running in the parking lot.
He's so beautiful and intense and focused.
I write this blog about my extraordinary, cuddly, loving, cherished little boy. About our adventures together, our daily moments and the things we learn that we should share. About our attempts to be more natural, earth friendly, and to help him grow up in a gentle supportive environment.
