One of our favorite games recently has been to hide Blue Bear, and then go find her.
“Our” favorite games…everything’s plural with parenthood.
And “Hide” Blue Bear, which of course means setting her down somewhere in plain sight.
Quotation marks, btw, are also part of parenthood. You’ll “love” them.
But the best thing about this particular distraction is when he finds her too early, when he sees her right away and doesn’t have time to proclaim that he can’t find her anywhere and have us suggest some potential search sites before triumphantly discovering just where that bear is.
When he finds her too soon, he gets a huge grin, but tries to disguise it and look away.
It is both adorable and hilarious.
I watch all this, stifling giggles, remarking upon the utter un-findability of certain ursine individuals, and I think about the last 2 and a half years.
In 900 days this little man has gone from 6 lbs of bundle and wiggle and squall to this walking, talking, train loving miniature human. He’s tamed and controlled (to an extent) this alien contraption of bone & muscle in which he’s found himself. He’s wrestled a blurry and cold and bright and messy chaos into a functional reality with colors and gravity and dogs that go “woof.” He’s gone from being at the mercy of circumstance and fumbling digestion to being able to communicate clearly his increasingly complicated needs and even says please. He’s grown a sense of humor.
2.5 years. What have I done in 2.5 years? Blogged? Not slept?
I wonder at all this as we play our game and he finds the bear but pretends he doesn’t. And he smiles, and I smile and we have our conspiracy.
And then it occurs to me that in doing this, I’m teaching him to deceive me.