Being Able to Jump

Grasping at the last bite of pancake, he pressed it between his fingers and tossed it behind him.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated to the couple sitting behind us. The man reminded me of Norman Mailer, but happier. He smiled, shrugged and said, "He's got a great arm!" Love this man.

Clearly J was done. I had spent what seemed like seconds eating my own meal while simultaneously grabbing straws from his pudgy little hands before he poked his eye out (I am becoming a mother, aren't I?), picked up soggy Cheerios and the mushy pancake strewn all over the table, apologized to our breakfast companions (they sorta asked for it since I told them I was perfectly fine eating alone with J, but they insisted) for the sneeze that no doubt christened their food with bits of milk and syrup, and trying desperately to keep J from styling his hair with maple gook.

I was exhausted. And that was just the eating, which was only half the fun. Getting out of the restaurant was an adventure, which is an understatement. With my hands gripping a jacket, purse, diaper bag, the bill, the tip, my little Crusoe decided to take off. Running, screaming (I swear there was a mocking "ha, ha, you can't catch me" undertone) he befriended every restaurant patron who would even dare glance his way. My little charmer. Me, smile, apologize, smile, apologize. There were a few times when I nearly had him in my grasp, but he was fueled by the laughter and "Oh, isn't he cute" comments that filtered through the air making his escape was inevitable.

He was performing.

And loving every moment of it.

Even though my little celebubaby showed his complete and utter dissatisfaction as I hoisted him on my hip and made my way quickly to the exit (being caught between two exiting customers gave me my chance), I felt a very weak sense of satisfaction.

Because I will admit. As much as I never want to be the mother with the out-of-control toddler, the one that causes chaos and distress to others (in other words, the toddler that draws often unreasonable ire from others and forces the mama to bear her claws), I love being the mother of a toddler who can't help but be happy. Who can't help but relish in the joy and attention of others.

Maybe because I have never been that way. Maybe because my "thriving in anonymity" philosophy is so challenged by his "HEY! Look at me!" personality. He commands attention without seeming to need it. It is so effortless. Stepping out behind him, I sometimes have to take a deep breath . . . and just jump. He makes me feel like there is nothing in the world better than just jumping.

I'd like to think that I have a realistic view of my little guy. That I don't think he's a perfect little genius, a prodigy who is extraordinary in every little way.

But I do think he is extraordinary. He is my perfect fit. I most definitely was nothing more than a bunch of mix-matched puzzle pieces sitting in the clearance rack before he came along.

Before him, before the mushy pancake, the constant chaos and the overwhelming exhaustion, I was OK. But now, I guess I just feel like I make sense. And being able to jump . . . well, that's an added bonus.