Very rainy, gray, chilly, no sun
Once, a very long time ago, Wil and I and a very good friend had the pleasure of watching the slow progress of a lunar eclipse from the rocky bank of our favorite creek. I stood, eyes open, nearly unblinking, wanting to see actual movement, but all I could see was progress. Slowly the moon disappeared, and reappeared, but no matter how much I stared, it was like still frames instead of video. The pace of progress was so slow, you’d swear it was all just a clever magic trick.
Watching Rev grow is just like that eclipse. I’ve been watching him for four years, waiting to catch him in the act of growth, but all I can see is the progress, the still frames, not the video.
Suddenly, he can get his own water from the kitchen, get himself dressed. He asked to do the dishes the other day, he can write his own name with his own little hands, he can listen to long stories without pictures and understand the jokes. He’s kind, he’s a good friend to his friends and cousins, he gets incredibly excited about incredibly mundane things. He like to make his own decisions and sometimes we clash. He makes me laugh. He’s still our baby, but he’s not a baby anymore.
From one day to the next his pants are too short, his little t-shirt threatens to expose his belly button. His shoes are almost too small.
What sleight of hand is this, this change too slow to see? Brutal is what it is. And beautiful. So, so beautiful. It takes my breath away.