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.
When Samantha was 2 and the ground became covered with white, she learned that the name of three large snowballs stacked up was “prosty no-man”.
That winter, I had her say it as many times as I could get her to, knowing that, by the following winter, she’d say “frosty the snowman” instead.
The memory is there, burned in over the course of three months. Although she knows frosty’s name now, I can still close my eyes and picture her, hearing her say “prosty no-man” again. It is an incredible treasure to have, and I’m grateful for it.
I think my favorite variant of the hiding-under-the-crib game is when he’ll get under there and then ask the room, “Where Eli go?” Same with him hiding in his closet.
[Yep, another entry that makes me all weepy. :sniffle:]
Welcome to one of the great joys and sorrows of fatherhood. There is another side to this story, though. I’ve heard from my own father’s mouth stories from my pre-memory days, and I’ve shared things with him that I’ve shared with no one else. As his mind goes, I realize that those pre-memory stories no longer exist, first-hand, in living memory, and that increasingly what we shared I now hold alone. So tell the stories; ingrain them well. Give them as long a life as possible. And carpe diem.
Gosh Stephen… you almost make ME want to cry.
Darn the stoicism.
How sweet! It has really been an honor to play a part in Eli’s life thus far. Jonathan and I were just talking about that the other day. I was telling him how flattered I was that Eli calls me Nanny. I’m not sure anyone really understands how that makes me feel…it feels wonderful. And it saddens me to think that one day, when he’s older, he may prefer to call me by name instead of Nanny. So I am trying to enjoy it while I can. I only hope he treasures the memories of spending time with his Nanny the way I do.
Here’s to many more wonderful memories 🙂
Quit that, I’m tearing up over here. My co-workers will wonder…
That handpring thing brought tears to my eyes. I know what you mean – and it doesn’t stop. I’ve been wanting to grab hold of my kids (12 and 7) and never let go in the hopes that they might stay who they are. I know, I do want to them to grow. But I’ll miss the innocence.
ps. someone told me this past year that really, the innocence is always still there. If I look into myself, I can agree.