No Matter How Hard I Hold On, Time Passes Me By

For some time now, we’ve been playing games of peekaboo with Eli. Like a certain fictional beast, Eli believes that if we can’t see him, he can’t see us. At the table I will hide behind a napkin. “Where daddy go?” Eli asks, eyes wide with disbelief at my vanishing act. In the evenings he invites me back to his room, where we play a number of games, including “hide unner my bed!” I can fit under Eli’s crib, but it’s a tight squeeze. Luckily, as long as I put my head under his bed, I’m good. Eli will sometimes crawl out from under his bed, stare at my prone body, my head hidden beneath his crib, and exclaim, “WHERE DADDY GO?”

That’s starting to change, though. The other night Misty came in to watch us play under his crib. “Where’s daddy?” she asked Eli when he crawled out to see her. “Right there!” he exclaimed, pointing at me.

So much about him is changing so quickly. Days slip past, and I don’t think about Eli growing, but then I’ll see a picture of him from a month ago and be shocked at the changes. The other day he pulled out his shapes puzzles, with the square and the circle and the rectangle. For the longest time he’s called one of the shapes a trapa oid. That evening he said, “look, a trapezoid!” and it was all I could do to keep from crying.

This nostalgia is silly and stupid. I want him to change. I’m excited to see what kind of person he’s becoming. I still can’t help it.

Eli tends to drag his hands along my truck. Right now one of his handprints is under the driver’s door handle. I haven’t washed my truck because I’m lazy. But if I ever do, I know I’ll be sad to see that handprint go.

Eli's tiny handprint

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