How can there be so much beauty is something that has only been living for eighteen months?
I lost faith in the idea that beauty is developed, accumulated over time -- when I look at Anderson, I see beauty in it's most purest and refined form.
His smile.
His laugh.
His mind...although I can't see it working, I know he is learning and embracing details, images, mannerisms, words.
The other day, with baby on my hip, I empty the dishwasher. He points to the coffee mug that I'm putting away and says, "daddy." He makes this connection by seeing my dad drink coffee every morning. Last week, after changing his diaper, putting his pajamas on, reading him his books and singing his songs, I go to put him in his crib. He leans away and distressingly reminds me, "teeth, teeth." I forgot to brush his teeth and he's not letting me get away with it.
His mind is captivating, even humbling.
Each morning...before I face hours of class or hours of work, I bring him up to my room.
We'll spin in circles and attempt walking, listen to "ander's" playlist on itunes, play veggietales computer games, brush our teeth, pick out my outfit together, jump on my bed. I rely on those moments -- those moments when I forget the world and focus on something that truly matters.
Anderson liberates me. He helps me retreat to a place where my happiness is measured by his silly faces and simple communication.
I once was reminded to embrace my inner child. I was told that every person should try to tap into a child's mind -- watch them and follow them, learn to giggle with them and put forth effort to understand them.
But after falling in love with an 18 month old beautiful baby boy...
I have realized: maybe we need not understand them at all.
Perhaps we only learn from them.
And (to allude to poet Robert Frost) perhaps that will make all the difference.
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