Someone to watch over me

As I write this, Jack is sitting next to my desk in the bouncy seat. He's talking to the fish in his bouncy-seat activity center and trying to suck both of his hands simultaneously.

And this, folks, is what it's all about for me.

When I thought about having a baby, I always pictured it somewhat realistically. I knew it wouldn't be all sunshine and roses all the time. I knew there would be fussing and crying and diaper explosions.

But I also pictured him sitting next to me on the floor, amusing himself with me watching him. And that's the best part about this moment: I can watch him watching the little fish and having a conversation with it and actually see the joy in his face.

He doesn't know I can see him, and I bet he even forgets I am here until he turns his head to the side, and OH HI THERE ARE MY BOOBS! MILK, PLEASE!, but I can.

And in this moment it hit me. This is my son and he's going to grow up, but for a while at least, I will be there to see the wonder and amazement in his eyes. I will be there when he discovers new things. And he doesn't know I am watching, but I am.

Which is pretty much a metaphor for the rest of his life. I might not always be there with him, but I will always be watching him from afar.