Just a Little Boy

I expect a lot from Dylan, I expect him to eat well and to go to sleep nicely when I tell him it is bed time. to play nicely with his friends and his brother. To look out for Archie, to be polite to family, friends and strangers.  To say please and Thank you in the right places.  Not to wake me up until 8am.  To understand danger and not run out in the road.  

He is a chatterbox and as we chat, I take for granted that he understands me, that he can express what he wants and how he feels.  I look for him to tell me that he is tired, hungry, scared or sad.  When we talk, about everything and anything, I often forget that he is not yet two and a half, that he is still just a little boy.

Photo taken by Ask Sharina Kent

When we are at home, he is confident, he challenges me, he is curious and he wants to discuss everything.  He asks me what we are going to do today, at what time, with who.  He tells me what he wants to play, to read or to watch.  He sits alone with his puzzles, a determined look on his face as he tries to place the pieces together in a way that makes sense.  He lounges in the corner, narrating a book to the room, telling us what is on each page - unable to read the words, but more than capable of interpreting the pictures.  

We decide to go out, so he fetches his shoes and coat, and a jacket for Archie too, reminding me to pack some snacks in the nappy bag.  He lets me know whether he fancies a ride in the buggy or whether he would rather walk.  He holds my hand, or stays close to the buggy, checking for cars before we cross the road, pointing out shapes in the street, from the circle drain covers, to the long yellow lines, to the rectangle post boxes.

He is my little buddy as we giggle together and share a joke.

But then something will happen, a dog will bark too loudly, a stranger will talk to him that he isn't sure about, he will trip as he walks, and suddenly I see my little boy, not yet two and a half, still learning about the world around him, still gaining vocabulary daily and with so much beyond his understanding.

As we discuss the moon and I try to explain, on his insistence, why we can sometimes see a full moon and sometimes only a slither, and I get a look of confusion back, I have to remember that he is two years old, just a little boy.  

I find it hard sometimes, the contrast between the intelligent child that is learning to read and count, and the toddler that needs me so much still, whose falls can be mended with mummy kisses and who comes and finds me in the kitchen because he really needs a kiss and a cuddle.  The little boy who is more than capable of taking himself off to bed and tucking himself in, but who sucks his thumb and cuddles his ducky as he drifts off.  My big boy, and my baby.