Son No 3 officially became a toddler just before his 1st birthday. He had been cruising along the walls and furniture for a while and the final impetus for him to became a bipedal man was securing a crust of toast from an elder brother. He could not crawl whilst clutching the tempting morsel of peanut butter encrusted wholemeal toast so he stood up and walked (wobbled) over to the corner to rapturous applause as if he had just won the 100m. In his world, he did and I felt just as proud of him.
He looked like an early hominid discovering that opposable thumbs allowed him to carry things as long as he walked: "Four legs good, two legs better," declared the Orwellian pigs. And now he does not stop. He is eating more and sleeping all night. It is nice to go to sleep not expecting to wake until morning. Or it would be if it were not for son No 2 who had a bad dream and No 1 who got his legs twisted in the duvet causing a panic attack.
"Daaaddy," they shout without concern for their weary father. And I respond like a faithful labrador because that smile of appreciation in the dark is like the kiss of an angel. I'm their dad; I hope they always need me so.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment