Day #248 The Stolen Child

Yesterday morning I posted the following on my Facebook page:

“We woke up to a changeling in our bed instead of Hawkeye. After two mornings in a row of crying and screaming and kicking and having to wrestle him into his clothes and shoes and stroller, this morning he meekly slid out of bed with a smile and a nod, went to the toilet, got dressed, and even put on the cardigan that he has been refusing to wear for weeks.

Changeling, I say. The real Hawkeye is clearly away with the faeries.”

Obviously, I wasn’t being terribly serious. I mean, if nothing else we have a bit too much iron in our household for the faeries to want to visit.

But then yesterday evening The Mister sent me the photo of barefoot Hawkeye.

Well that did it. There is no doubt now. Who is this child and where did mine go? You see, Hawkeye may have spent all of last summer mostly barefoot when indoors. He was happy to sleep without socks too until the weather got colder. But then this year, when winter gave way to warmer weather again… the socks stayed. You could not part Hawkeye from his socks under any circumstances unless it was bath time. He was happy enough to change his socks, but never go without them. He has been sleeping in socks all summer. Sneaking them away didn’t work. Taking them off after he was asleep didn’t work. Accidentally on purpose “forgetting” to put them back on his feet after bath time didn’t work. (see posts #154 and #192)

So I take it all back. The faeries definitely did a switcheroo on our child. I am going to have to go into the forest and find a faerie ring and bargain with the fickle creatures to get our own kid back.

Or, you know, I could just keep this one. If he stays this manageable we might just leave the real Hawkeye with the faeries.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

~ W.B. Yeats The Stolen Child [extract]