Archive for April 25th, 2011

25 Apr 2011

Cat Woman and the Missing Jacket

18 Comments Family, Toddler

We’d made it all the way out to the car in the mall’s parking lot, upstairs outside of the food court, when I realized we didn’t have his jacket.

“Darn!”

I was running late to get home to get ready for a thing I had to get to.

“Come on, buddy. We have to go find your jacket.”

“We lost it?”, he asked.

“Well, I’m sure it’s either in the playground or the burger place.”

“Cat Woman?”

“Yes, Robin?”

Lately I’ve been Cat Woman, Russ has been Batman and G has been Robin. I find it fascinating that he chooses to be the sidekick even when Russ isn’t with us. My son is nothing if not consistent.

“Will you pick me up?”

“Of course! Meow.”

G is big. He’s about 40 pounds, but I think every one of his pounds weighs a pound and a half. He’s solid. It’s getting harder to hold him for long.

I speed-walked through the mall, holding him in my arms, smelling his hair. I know it’s cliche’, but I honestly can’t help but do it when I’m holding him. I put him down to get on the escalator.

“Thank you, Cat Woman.”

“You’re welcome, Robin.”

“Cat Woman”?

“Yes, Robin”?

“Are we going to get in the Bat Mobile when we find my dressed?”

Sometimes G refers to clothes as “dressed”.

“Yes, Robin. We will.”

“Am I driving, or are you?”, he asked.

“I’ll drive this time and you can fight the bad guys from the backseat.”

“But all the bad guys are good now!”

“Oh! Then you can just tell me which way to go!”

“That’s a great idea!”

The jacket wasn’t in the playground so we walked to the other end of the mall to get to the burger joint. Again, he wanted me to carry him and I obliged. My arms were hurting pretty badly and I put him down once to rest them. But these moments are fleeting. And, just like breast-feeding and lullabies and baths in the sink… soon carrying my son will be a thing of the past. He’ll keep growing, and I’ll stay the same. Those physics just don’t add up to me being able to lift him for more than another year or three.

We found his jacket at the restaurant, and we ran side by side toward the Bat Mobile. Half way through the mall he asked once again to be picked up. I scooped him into my arms, continued to run, and got us into the car.

It is in these moments of “nothing special” that I find the most joy and melancholy. I am so hyper-aware of my good fortune, getting to spend time with this amazing child. And I am so aware of him speed-walking toward becoming a big kid, a young man, and then a man. I hold him in my arms, and he holds my heart in his. He always will. Even when he’s too big to pick up.

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