Derek is almost four months old. He will be seven months old before most of my family (parents/siblings) get to even meet him. That’s a shame, because he is so fun these days!
He smiles, laughs, holds toys and puts them in his mouth. He looks around and tries to see everything, but Walmart still overwhelms him into a comatose stare that leads to a nap. He knows where I usually sit, and looks for me there, and comments when I’m not there.
When he’s tired, he snuggles his face into my armpit.
Today, he got upset because I buckled him into a baby chair while I made dinner. He looked me in the eyes and howled. I looked him in the eyes and told him, “I do NOT do what you want because you throw a fit! When you are calm, I will get you out of there.” Granted, he doesn’t understand me yet, but a few minutes later he was calm, and reached for me, so I took him out. Hopefully he is learning which behavior gets rewards.
Olivia and Derek make me think about the brevity of life. My birthday is this week, and I’m contemplating how much longer I’m likely to live, barring the unforeseen. Because I have medical insurance, I’ve had every checkup a 50 year old woman is supposed to have in the last few months, and there isn’t anything wrong with me that a little exercise wouldn’t fix. So it’s possible I’ll live to be 90-something, like the grandmother who gave me this body type.
That means Derek could be about 40 when it’s my turn to go. Olivia would be 42. I could possibly meet their kids.
What will my life be like for the next 40 years? Will I live in this house, in this town? Will I finally visit Thailand, and maybe live a year or two there? But then, I would miss so much of the grandkids’ lives. I already miss far too much of Olivia’s. She doesn’t know me at all, doesn’t know how much I love her, because we just live too far away. But as she gets older, she will understand better, gifts and phone conversations will become more meaningful, and visits will be remembered.
The future still holds a lot of love.
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