Learning to Talk

The other night, just as I was about to put Biscuits to bed, I noticed him staring at the light. He, like his brother and nearly every other baby before him, is obsessed with lights. I have to be careful to block off all light in the room when it's time to nurse him because if there's a stray beam anywhere, he'll find it and will fixate on it, unable to nurse no matter how starving he may be. On this particular night, I decided to spend some extra time trying to teach him the word "light" since he's right around the age (10-11 months) that Bears was when he said his first word. Which was, of course, "light."

 As he was staring at the light, I said the word. He looked, transfixed, at my mouth. I said it again. He looked back and forth from the light to my mouth several times and I could see the moment when it all clicked. His eyes widened and he got a huge grin on his face. Then he opened his mouth, took a deep breath and said, "...anaaanaaa!" His brow twitched. "AnaaaAA!" A look of frustration and confusion crossed his face, then he let out a desperate, "ananaaannaaaAAAGHHGHH!!!!" Finally, he succumbed to despair and burst into tears. Poor little friend. It's got to be very frustrating to know what you want to say but be totally unable to say it.

Oh and I just realized that I only posted their laughing video on Facebook so I'd better throw it up here as well for Grandma:

Happiness

This evening we decided to take a walk down to the park, something we do fairly often these days now that we live less than a block away from one. Ryan and Bears were walking just ahead of me and bitty Biscuits snuggled up against my back in his carrier. The sun was about an hour from setting so it was right smack in our eyes. I couldn't see much of anything except for the silhouette of Ryan and Bears up ahead, a bright halo of sunlight surrounding them. I was struck with the idealistic image of father and son: the only defining characteristics were Ryan's height and broad shoulders, and then Bears' tiny size and bouncy, awkward gait as he loped alongside him. I felt a tightening sensation in my chest as I thought about how I get to call them mine -- my family. It was one of those moments that you'll have occasionally where you can tell will be etched into your permanent memory banks, something to grasp for when times are hard. It's the perfect knowledge of what happiness feels like...in this case, it's warm sunlight and my boys. Also, happiness smells like spring. Figures.