“In your light, I learn how to love,
in your beauty, how to make poems.
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
But sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.”
Love is a wonderful thing. It sweeps you up.
Still, two years later, I look at Liam and feel this great, overpowering love. It’s amazing.
You would think that you would get used to it, the way you get used to your heart beating. It is constant, but you forget. Beat. Beat. It is not like that at all. It is a growing thing; it takes on a life all its own.
The way he sees things and describes things to me. The way he continues to narrate his life. The way he considers things, pausing for a moment, before answering.
Love the way he says, “No, tanks” when you suggest something.
Love the way he interacts with other kids… this week he went up to two little girls in the library, and said, “Hey guys, what you doing? Playing train set???” With all the enthusiasm in the world.
Love the way he invites other kids to play… while going to get a bagel with friends, he called to his friend Esme, “Come on, Emmee! Emmee, come on! Go get bagel! Come on, Emmee! Get bagel!" beat beat.
How he is always laughing with people. We ate at a restaurant last night and he made friends with the people around us. He was high fiving them through the little hole in the partition, describing his food and showing it to them, and shoving crispy tofu in his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
He gets really into different things and there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to it. From trains to baby, or the movie Cars to a 1950’s book about a boy named Timmy.
Love how he learned to put penne noodles on his finger and eat it off.
I absolutely love how confident and happy he is. Beat. Beat.
Love how he tried chocolate soymilk for the first time yesterday and took a sip, paused, looked at me with this look of shock and awe, then didn’t open his eyes or breathe or move until it was gone. About one minute later. Then, with chocolate ‘stache on his lip, he moved on.
Love how his hair is different every single day.
Love how he is so much cooler than I will ever be.
I love how he loves me. How when he is tired, he wraps his little legs around me waist and nuzzles into my chest. Or when we are watching a movie, he holds my hand. His tiny fingers are so small against mine.
He loves music. We are always playing it and he mimics me when I am singing songs or dancing.
He is always dancing. Dancing to all music, any music. And the dance is always different; his own interpretation. Sometimes a spin, sometimes a head nod, sometimes a foot tap. Boy’s got rhythm.
Love his growing imagination. Love how he develops storylines for his guys and now has them talk to each other. Sometimes he even makes different voices for them.
How he loves our cat, Buckley. This morning he climbed up on him to ride him. I said, “honey, Buckley’s not a horse, we can’t ride him like that,” And Liam corrected me by saying, “No, Mommy, coooow.” And then pounced him.
A few days ago, he took the table and chairs out of his room and set it all up in the living room so he could feed an apple to his dog Tony.
I look at videos of when he was little and hear the same roaring laughter as his laugh today. A bigger sound, but the same sound from my baby boy. Will it be the same when he’s older? Will I still hear my baby laugh when he is grown?
It’s overpowering. I may get used to it, this love, like my heart beating. But for now, I will drink it all in, love, and dance.