27 October 2006
I caught him eating waffles out of the trash the other day. there's a kind of quiet that settles over the house when ezra is up to something. it's an ominous quiet that jolts me out of wherever I am in my thinking, whatever I am doing. I drop everything and fly through the house, yelling his name. on this morning, he was nibbling on something near the trash can and when I saw it was waffles, I knew where he'd been.
he's also taken to waking up at 5:30 most every morning. which wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't head-butting involved. if he would wait until, say-- sevenish-- to run full speed at my belly with his tough little bedhead bowed and ready for contact, I might be able to pass it off as some weird, adorable little toddler quirk. I am absolutely not a morning person and probably never will be. and it really doesn't matter if I go to bed in the middle of the day, 5:30 in the morning still feels like the anti-christ to me. I am steeped in grouchiness until about eight and there's just no getting around that. the combination of all these things has stretched me in spectacular ways.
then there's the pinching. ezra takes great comfort in pinching the skin on the insides of my arms, near the crook of the elbow-- and he's figured out that bending my arm in just the right way allows for the most perfect amount of meaty, pinchable flesh. some of those pinching sessions have brought tears to my eyes, dear readers. those little pinchers are powerful weapons that should be registered with the U.S. government. I believe he pinches out of love, I do-- and comfort. and probably to get my attention. I haven't put a stop to it just yet, mostly because I'm genuinely fascinated by it.
I'm not as fascinated by the 'elbows of death' though. yes, that's what I like to call them-- the 'elbows of death'. ezra likes to pounce on me like an old grey mattress that's been left out on the side of the road. he's so joyful in the pouncing that I don't usually mind it. until I feel a pointy elbow dig in my neck or thigh and then I mind it very much.
and like so many toddlers everywhere, he loves (LOVES) running through the house pants-less. it must feel so good and free to zip naked through each room (which is why I allow it). the problems come when it's time to put the pants back on: when ezra sees me coming towards him with jeans and diaper in hand, he begins to spiral his body violently, comically. like a tiny cartoon twister. there's no containing him, no bribing him, absolutely no stopping him. I grab his ankles and pull but my arms start to twist too, at which point I give up until he's worn himself out. I keep waiting for him to bore a hole through the couch cushions, the sisal rug, the wood floor. I keep thinking he might end up somehwere near the center of the earth.
oh, but I am so crazy about that kid, so crazy-- in spite of these things, because of these things. I am crazy with love, so crazy that I think it probably comes out of my ears and eyeballs, from the top of my head, out the tips of my fingers. it's a love so alive it lights up like an electric sign that cannot be turned off. and you know that it's too much but you can't really stop from looking at it.
and here is where I give up the photobooth friday goods:
the whole self
under a pink sky
and here is something that makes me so happy, so jealous-- all at the same time.