quite a while ago, before we moved back from san francisco, i took james for one last stroller ride down to the bay. he was about nine-months old. i bundled him up and covered him with the baby blanket i had made him before he was born, determined he’d be warm despite the cold, damp air.
he proceeded to kick or pull his blanket off throughout the walk. i was struck by his independence and i had what i guess can best be called a parenting revelation: although i’ll know what’s best for him, it, of course, doesn’t mean he’ll listen. he’ll have to figure things out for himself. i also had a temporary heartbreak, because his defiance crystalized for me that he truly was no longer a baby per se, and well on his way to toddlerhood.
being a relatively new parent, i could easily let my imagination run wild. i suddenly could see the day when he’d no longer need me. as hard as that is to imagine, i tell myself that that’s the job i signed up for and that’s when i’ll know i did it well. oh the irony.