Month Seven

Dear Grayson,

I got a little weepy this weekend. And, thanks to Lexapro, Mama just doesn't get all that weepy all that often. But, it was our hospice's semi-annual memorial service for the families of those who have died under our care and the woman who gave a remembrance of her husband talked about how strange it is for her that she has a grandson now, and that her husband (who died a few years ago) will never meet this child who shares his name and his great big football-player hands. And I thought about your great-grandmothers, and your great-grandfather, and your pa who have all died before your birth, who will never know you and who would have loved you so much.

I also got weepy about how big your getting, and how my infant has become lost in the big boy that you're becoming. You say "Dada" with wild abandon--often to your father, but also to your right foot, a man in the Hallmark store, the monkey hanging from your play gym, and the cat. You say it with joy as you shriek happily whilst bounding in your Jumperoo, and you say it with earnest need as you call mournfully from your crib in the middle of the night, and you say it with pleading desire as your mama makes you lie on your tummy in the heinous ritual known as "tummy time," your solemn word, your "Dada" uttered with a sigh as a summons to the man who understands you far better and would never make you undergo this torture. And finally, you say it as benediction and confirmation as you look at R. and pause, your tiny hands memorizing his chin as you feel your way across his face. "Dada."

This has been the month of your love affair with Cooper the 21 lb. cat. You are one of the few people who have fallen in love with this mentally deficient creature who often poops next to your crib and wakens you in the night with his yowling. You see past these deficiencies and look on him with eyes of pure love, giggling yourself silly when he walks in the room, or licks his hind quarters, or jumps on the chair where he's not supposed to sit, or tries to hump the other (male) cat. You see him as pure cat love and pure entertainment and how you can howl in delight when he enters your frame of vision. I hope you love animals your whole life long.

This was also the month when you scared me with an illness. A few nights ago you couldn't stop vomiting (seventeen times to be exact). You were a sick boy. When we took you to the pediatrician the words IV and hospital were bantered around and I realized in that heart-stopping instant that I felt as if I were being torn down the middle. I simply couldn't fathom having you away from home, having you sick. Sometimes it is wretchedly sweet to love something or someone so much. Someday I hope you know this kind of love for yourself.

I adore you, my sweet pumpkin.
Mama