I never get tired of watching The Mister play with Hawkeye. I always knew he would make a good father. I had plenty of time to observe him with small kids and he always seemed at ease with them – something I often envied. I am not, by nature, a baby person. I don’t relate well to small kids. I feel awkward talking to them. Even after having my own, I have discovered that while I can relate well to my own spawn (thank god!) and I find myself to be a lot more comfortable with children of a similar age or younger, I still have no idea of how to approach anyone older that Hawkeye. It still remains unknown territory to me.
The Mister, on the other hand, always seemed to have a good knack for this sort of thing. I have a distinct memory of watching him play with my older nephew when the latter could not have been more than three or four years old (he is now in his first year of high school and once again I ask, when did that happen?). The two spent hours on the floor together during one of our trips to the US, and even though one was speaking in Russian and the other in English, communication did not seem to be a problem.
Watching him now playing with our own, it’s not just gratifying to thinkg yeah, I knew I was right about that, but it’s also just… amazing. I never get tired of watching them roughhouse, build together, run after each other, walk hand in hand, or watch Hawkeye get carried when he’s tired, his cheek pressed into my husband’s shoulder. It’s like watching a mirror of my own emotions. Seeing the love I feel for our son expressed on his face is breathtaking.
Today we were trying to get outside and I asked Hawkeye to get his shoes. Instead of bringing them to me so I could help him put them on, he stuck his hands into them and started stomping around on all fours with his butt stuck high in the air. “I’m a DINOSAUR” he roared.
“Shoes go on your feet, not on your hands, Hawkeye!” I called out to him over my shoulder while getting my own things together.
“I’m not Hawkeye! I’m a DINOSAUR!” he repeated as he continued to stomp around. Out comes my husband and without batting an eyelash changes the game.
“Ok then, let’s get your dinosaur shoes onto your dinosaur feet. And then we’ll go get your dinosaur coat.”
“Ok, daddy.”
We were dressed and out the door in no time after that.
*Daddysaur is how Hawkeye first went about pronouncing “Dinosaur” when the word began appearing in the early board books that we read to him. It took all the willpower in the world not to give in and repeat the word “Daddysaur” after him.
The Feathered Rose 