Independence Week 2011

In honor of Fourth of July, Mr. Micah has been flexing his independence muscles this week. After turning seven months, he is SO over being a baby, and is diligently, almost obsessively, practicing his power crawl. I hope he is not a perfectionist already. I wish he would rest and cuddle with me but he keeps practicing the crawl as if Kim Jong Il is making him do a thousand sets…or else. He thinks being strapped into anything is SO six-month old and can’t believe mama would still belt him into the stroller or the highchair when he is grown! He has protested the stroller heartily with big tears and dramatic screams but usually acts like he ain’t never been upset once we start strolling and he crinkles his little peacock toy friend, with his signature serious face. The highchair has been worse though. He screams so much he can’t even eat sometimes. My naturally good eater going through a brief phase, hopefully. Today, I even resorted to feeding him with a Micah-head tucked under my left armpit, on my lap, his right arm around me, because I didn’t want him to skip meals or just have breastmilk.

A couple days ago, I was washing dishes with my back turned to him. My boy was seated in his blue Bumbo seat, with his juicy thighs crammed into the leg spaces (how I dread the day he has thinned out and his legs fit easily). I would turn around sometimes to reassure him that mama is still there, since he could only see my back. Something about his crooked smile and confident gaze my way played a trick on my eyes and for a moment on that ordinary afternoon, I caught a glimpse of college-aged Micah surprising 50-something year-old mama while she washed the dishes. He would come in with that indescribable smile that makes me excited for each new day, the smile he doesn’t dole out to just anyone. He’d sneak up on oblivious, daydreaming mama doing the dishes and say, “Umma! Surprise! I came home to see you! You happy to see me or what?” He might bring some laundry to do, ask me for some food, ask where his pops is. He’d give me a big bear hug that I’d hold onto for an extra beat and in that moment, somewhere out there, I would flash back to this moment and see my seven-month old boy all over again.

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