Our Boy is All Growed Up... Sort of
Eliot has arrived at his, I WANT TO EAT EVERY HOUR OF THE NIGHT BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT STEROIDS DOES TO ME phase.
Saturday night Sara had him, and I told her that I would take him on Sunday night since I was going to be at Clergy Conference all week.
Anyway, he woke up earlier than usual and we sat at the table eating pasta with his little fork talking to each other and just hanging out.
What got me was as he cleaned his plate, picking up every scrap of pasta leftover, he looked at me and said "Eyot go to sleep now." I asked him if he wanted to have me help him get down and he said, "Eyot got it." Then he looked at me again and said Daddy, Eyot go to sleep now" as if he was telling me something, I asked him if he wanted me to carry him up to his bed, and he said, "Eyot got it."
As he crawled up the stairs, carrying his blanket I was amazed by him, just watching him and thinking about how much he has gone through and how strong he has been through the whole thing.
He seemed to have a pattern a routine that he knew he had to follow, not for the rest of his life but for this brief time in his life, and he was resigned to follow it, resigned but full of strength and hope for its end. He knows he has just about conquered this thing deep down somewhere, even though he wouldn't have any words for it.
His march u the stairs was just that a march, a determined moment that these drugs and these things that have so affected his body were not going beat him in anyway.
It was precious, he didn't need me, he didn't need his mom, he didn't need anyone, he crawled up the stairs and went right to his room.
Then he looked at me, with those big eyes, his eyebrows raised and he said, "Daddy, Eyot poop, change Eyot's diaper." So I did, not quite as helpless as I thought I was in that moment.
Saturday night Sara had him, and I told her that I would take him on Sunday night since I was going to be at Clergy Conference all week.
Anyway, he woke up earlier than usual and we sat at the table eating pasta with his little fork talking to each other and just hanging out.
What got me was as he cleaned his plate, picking up every scrap of pasta leftover, he looked at me and said "Eyot go to sleep now." I asked him if he wanted to have me help him get down and he said, "Eyot got it." Then he looked at me again and said Daddy, Eyot go to sleep now" as if he was telling me something, I asked him if he wanted me to carry him up to his bed, and he said, "Eyot got it."
As he crawled up the stairs, carrying his blanket I was amazed by him, just watching him and thinking about how much he has gone through and how strong he has been through the whole thing.
He seemed to have a pattern a routine that he knew he had to follow, not for the rest of his life but for this brief time in his life, and he was resigned to follow it, resigned but full of strength and hope for its end. He knows he has just about conquered this thing deep down somewhere, even though he wouldn't have any words for it.
His march u the stairs was just that a march, a determined moment that these drugs and these things that have so affected his body were not going beat him in anyway.
It was precious, he didn't need me, he didn't need his mom, he didn't need anyone, he crawled up the stairs and went right to his room.
Then he looked at me, with those big eyes, his eyebrows raised and he said, "Daddy, Eyot poop, change Eyot's diaper." So I did, not quite as helpless as I thought I was in that moment.
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