Reality

Ian is often glued to me these days. If he's the least bit tired, he will not allow me to put him down; when I sit with him on the floor to play, he sometimes crawls into my lap with such fervor that he seems to want to crawl in my pocket, under my skin. He grabs my hand and presses it against his face; he likes to be rocked and sit in my lap with the side of his face resting on my chest while I stroke his hair; he and and lean his face against my chest while we sit on the couch or in a chair. He follows me around the house and prefers to be in the same room as me; once he realizes he's not in the same room as me, he'll cry and come find me. He's not walking (yes, he's 16 months and not walking, that's what I said), and he insists that I hold BOTH his hands to practice-walk; when I try to let one hand go, he freezes in place and howls until I give in or until he sits down.

You might be expecting me to say that he is a pain in the ass. Nope. I frankly love it. I love his love and his needs; they make me feel strong and important and special, as they should. I love being able to soothe him. I love him. I love having him around and I love having him near me and I love that he loves me. I do not want him to walk, or figure out how to use a fork, or put on his shirt without help, or go to school 8 hours a day, or fall in love, or get married, or go away to college, or fix his own macaroni and cheese, or drive. I want him to want and need me. Forever. So there. I don't want him to grow up. He's cute and sweet and wonderful and curious and smart and I have never known such... um... fulfillment, I suppose, for lack of a better term.

I believe that Ian has always been here. (This is strange and perhaps Hallmarky, I realize, but it is exactly and precisely how I feel.) I see myself as a teenager, miserable and insane, and I feel him with me. I see myself as a child, alone with the television, and I feel him with me. These feelings are not reflective of reality but they are nonetheless reality--as all feelings are. So what makes sense to me, if I simply allow myself to think it, is that as Ian grows up and learns to use a fork and drive a car and navigate the universe, he will still be with me. Even when he isn't. He is my reality, and since he always has been, he always will be.