A couple nights ago my older son, husband, and I were goofing around in the kitchen, and my son, who is all pumped up about how strong he’s getting, was begging us to let him pick us up, so I said, Sure, Sonny, show me your stuff, and he promptly scooped my up in his arms and walked around the kitchen. And then he did the same to my husband.
When your child is finally big enough to pick you up easily and carry you around, paradigms wobble.
I wanted some pictures of our resident Popeye, so last night I told my son to come outside with me. “Show me your muscles,” I said. He happily obliged.
“Go get Papa,” I said. “I want to get some pictures, but don’t tell him that. Once he’s out here, pick him up.”
|this photo screams Napoleon Dynamite, don’t you think?|
My husband was his usual reticent self.
So my son gave up on the muscle-flaunting part and jumped right into the lift-him-off-his-feet part.
And then he picked me up, mama mia!