Four More Years

No, not for that guy.

It's my son.  EJ.  He's four and it's dreamy.

 

My sister recently gave birth, and after FaceTiming with his baby cousin for the first time, my son asked what he was like when he was little...you know, because he's so old now.  Anyways, I, as a 21st century parent, whipped out my phone to document my narration with a bevy of photos.  And he, being a 21st century kid, grabbed the phone, swiped past the photos, and clicked on the videos. He really got a kick out of them, not fully connecting that he was the infant star of each short film.  For me, the videos drummed up feelings of nostalgia, but moreso, feelings of surprise.  It was the voice. My voice.  On most of the clips, it sounded disingenuous and hollow, even beyond when you know you're being filmed and inadvertently raise your voice an octave. I was acting.

I tried to place myself back in those days. Beyond the exhaustion and trepidation all new parents experience, I was also dealing with a divorce and coming to terms with the fact that "single" would precede my major titles in life. It was all a lot to deal with, but I realized that wasn't all of it. When I watched the videos again, I also acknowledged this: I didn't love when EJ was an infant.  There, I said it.  Infancy wasn't my jam.  I got through it, had some nice moments within it, but even now after it's long gone, my hindsight can't gloss over or rose-color the bad.  I will always remember that when EJ stopped looking like a boneless alien, he was super cuddly, soft, and smelled good (most of the time). But then right along with that, I feel the phantom aches in my arms, back, and wrists from all the holding, and remember how endless each day felt. 

But four is a different story.  For me, four rocks. EJ is this complete little person who makes jokes and shares deep thoughts about superheroes and the monsters that hide in his room at night.  He has a sharp sense of humor and strong opinions about colors, TV, what he wants to wear, how to build Lego ninja-super-laser-rocket-blaster-ships (are those a thing?), and when it's an appropriate time to pick his nose (anytime). The diapers are gone, but the cute neediness remains.  I love it. And now, I find myself savoring and trying to slow down time before the cretins of Kindergarten interfere with my boy's sense of self and how he fits into this world.

Through the ups, downs, and diarrhea-y, I've never wanted to get off this parental rollercoaster I'm on, and heaven-willing,  I'll ride this piece for a long, long time.  If the past four years have taught me anything, it's to keep your eyes open and be thankful for the ride, but don't be afraid to keep it real when it's nausea-inducing and scream things like, Go the F&@# to sleep!, or Guess what, today sucks!, or, My boobs are closed, you guzzling miscreant!, or Did you really not see that table you just walked into, fool!?, or Why are you acting like the spawn of Satan!? (okay, maybe whisper that last one).