When you have a new baby it is impossible to imagine a day when that same child will challenge every ounce of your patience and leave you a frustrated heap of failed parenting. Babies are miracles, it is easy to be in awe of their existence. Strangers stop me on the street to catch a smile from Kizuki. When one is given the world realigns, and for a moment the receiver of that wide open smile feels that life is good. Life is good, but most of us have a hard time remembering that. It is all part of human survival, babies are easy to love. And then they grow and grow, and little by little they become people with their own ideas and their own shortcomings. The people they become somehow over shadow, and at times completely blocks out, the inherent miracle that we all are, still. At seven years old, Uta is moody and withdrawn, and at times surly and defiant. It is behavior I thought was far off on the distant horizon of his teenage years. I am beginning to think that seven must be the new thirteen. Some days the miracle lies in me somehow managing to keep my cool in dealing with his theatrics. There are a lot of tears, a lot of foot stopping, and worst of all, a bewildered sadness coming out of Uta. I can't figure out where it is all stemming from. Most likely it will pass, as all these heart wrenching phases do. But in the mean time, I'm working really hard to be present with Uta and love him like the day he was born. He is still that sweet warm life, only better. He is Uta, in all his glory and gravity. And I love him.
No comments:
Post a Comment