The Two Sides of M Fonzarelli
Myles is a very gregarious, adventurous child. He'll smile and laugh for just about anyone — and when I say laugh, I mean he gets to the point where he's in hysterics and has to be reminded to breathe. If laughter had degrees of pitch like sound, he's only a couple of notches below those dog whistles. He is the boy who climbed up on a visitor because, well, she had a hoodie with drawstrings, and he wanted to play with a drawstring. A wallflower he is not. He gets so excited to see other kids, especially babies just like him. Lately he says "ayyyyyyy!" like Fonzie when he sees other babies — and also crawls toward them and grabs at them with abandon, so we have to make like a boxing referee and pull him off before it's necessary to call a Standing 8.
I was recently reminded by my mother that when I was a little crawler like Mr. M, I would not venture out onto grass if I was sitting on a towel or blanket. That didn't really surprise me. But this little guy is at the other end of that spectrum. We were working on our raised bed garden the other day. It was very sunny and warm, so we brought M out on a blanket while we worked on planting. The youngster from Salt Lake with the quick first step showed he wouldn't be contained. Within seconds, he was crawling toward the garden, and he had pulled himself up and was playing with the dirt. So he likes to get his hands dirty. That could be a good quality.
But be it known, the world is his, and the rest of us are checking for rates and availability.
And then there are the times where he's the exact opposite of his bubbly, strong, independent where-are-you-going-?, borderline mischievous self. Like when we got him ready for bed tonight. It takes considerable effort to wind him down (and keep him still long enough to change his diaper and put on his jammies!). But after feeding him his bottle, the laughing, crawling and climbing had caught up with him. He was spent, and we put him in his crib as he was peacefully asleep.
Until about 45 minutes later. He woke up. And maybe he didn't realize where he was at first. It was dark. There were no toys. He was wrapped in something. And he cried. We held him, and he kept crying. No pain, no sickness, nothing causing him harm. But suddenly he was vulnerable, probably scared, weakened, disoriented ... or he just wanted someone to hold him.
The happy, rambunctious boy wasn't gone. He was just in a different place. It's a place he goes to every night, but on some nights adjusting is more difficult.
And this is our strong, jovial, growing boy. We're proud of him when he can do things on his own. We're sad with him when he's having a tough time — even if we don't know what's causing it. But in both instances, he brings us joy. For some reason(s), God entrusted him to our care, and we thank Him every day for that ... in good times and in bad, as the saying goes. And from extreme, breath-hindering laughter to seemingly inconsolable sobbing, we love him every minute.
I was recently reminded by my mother that when I was a little crawler like Mr. M, I would not venture out onto grass if I was sitting on a towel or blanket. That didn't really surprise me. But this little guy is at the other end of that spectrum. We were working on our raised bed garden the other day. It was very sunny and warm, so we brought M out on a blanket while we worked on planting. The youngster from Salt Lake with the quick first step showed he wouldn't be contained. Within seconds, he was crawling toward the garden, and he had pulled himself up and was playing with the dirt. So he likes to get his hands dirty. That could be a good quality.
But be it known, the world is his, and the rest of us are checking for rates and availability.
And then there are the times where he's the exact opposite of his bubbly, strong, independent where-are-you-going-?, borderline mischievous self. Like when we got him ready for bed tonight. It takes considerable effort to wind him down (and keep him still long enough to change his diaper and put on his jammies!). But after feeding him his bottle, the laughing, crawling and climbing had caught up with him. He was spent, and we put him in his crib as he was peacefully asleep.
Until about 45 minutes later. He woke up. And maybe he didn't realize where he was at first. It was dark. There were no toys. He was wrapped in something. And he cried. We held him, and he kept crying. No pain, no sickness, nothing causing him harm. But suddenly he was vulnerable, probably scared, weakened, disoriented ... or he just wanted someone to hold him.
The happy, rambunctious boy wasn't gone. He was just in a different place. It's a place he goes to every night, but on some nights adjusting is more difficult.
And this is our strong, jovial, growing boy. We're proud of him when he can do things on his own. We're sad with him when he's having a tough time — even if we don't know what's causing it. But in both instances, he brings us joy. For some reason(s), God entrusted him to our care, and we thank Him every day for that ... in good times and in bad, as the saying goes. And from extreme, breath-hindering laughter to seemingly inconsolable sobbing, we love him every minute.
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