"It's okay Carson. We will play another game soon," Boddhi said as he patted his friend's arm. Boddhi hopped out of the car (easily this time), and waved until Carson's mom drove out of sight: "Bye-bye...see you soon...thank you," he said.
We spent the morning at the museum. Boddhi drove the fire truck while Carson drove the school bus. They splashed in the bubble room. Boddhi served tea in the kitchen. They drove their cars around and around the pretend street.
He is changing quickly, doesn't play so close to me anymore, doesn't wait for me or even look for me before he runs to the next room at the museum. He has "friends," people he remembers and talks about while we drive in the car. He holds their hand when we walk at the zoo, watching closely to see what neat thing this little person will do next.
He started school on Monday, Parent's Day Out -- one day a week for five hours. We sat at the table that morning drawing his name on his lunch bag; he dictated random letters while I wrote B-O-D-D-H-I on the brown paper. Then I drew a large red heart under his name. "I LOVE IT!," he yelled, running to place the lunch bag carefully into his Thomas back pack. He immediately put it on his back and ran for the door. "Let's GO. I ready for school."
I tried to explain that school did not start for another hour. It was a long hour.
Dude and I dropped him off together, reaching for a hug on exit, but receiving a wave and a loud "BYE!"
I made it to the parking lot before the tears came. I know it is just one day a week, but it felt like a rip...a separation between us that had not been there before.
[I went home and finished my articles -- lots of luxurious time to write and think and drink tea without interruption...but that is another story -- and this one is about Boddhi.]
He will be three in two months; three years! He won't hold my hand when we walk anymore; I offer it to him, and he reaches up, and then, like he remembers something; he says "no thank you." and pulls it back, walking on by himself.
He wants to read the story at bedtime: "I read it momma," he says, grabbing the book out of my hands (and he usually remembers all the lines). So many things to do all by himself (not going on the potty currently, but lots of other things anyway).
But there are still times, late at night, when he walks over to my side of the bed, squeezes in under my covers and cuddles up close, rubbing my arm and smiling up at me: "I yuv you mama."
There are still times when he gets tired of walking and he reaches for me..."K (carry) you momma...peas."
When he gets a bump or bruise, he asks me to kiss it over and over; he still sits on my lap during story time. He wraps his arm around mine while we read.
It is a strange time for me. I love watching him grow, and there are so many fun things we do together now: the library, the museum, the park, the zoo, eating at "The Pomato", drawing trains with his crayons, gluing and cutting paper together, singing Twinkle Little Star, dancing to the Imagination Movers.
But it is hard too. We are closer and further apart. He is becoming more Boddhi and less me.
A friend and I were sharing birth stories today, and I talked about touching Boddhi's head for the first time, meeting this beating, pulsing life on his way into this world, a hand on a head emerging into being, a moment of separation.
I know from experience that these little separations continue indefinitely -- one day you look at this full size person sitting across the table from you and cannot believe she came from you, that she started out as a tiny, red babe.
Nearly three years together, 2 states and 4 cities. Plenty of moments, meaningful, ordinary and amazing. Nothing I can do but watch...and let go a little.
I want to feel this -- his life, emerging with my hand on his head.
--Sadge
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