I don't birth babies like that.
I tried to picture Silas in a staff meeting. He would sit in my lap for approximately 24 seconds, then he would exclaim, "Get down! Go play!" I would pull out a snack. He would eat it in two handfuls, dump the crumbs on the table, and screech, "GET! DOWN! PLAY PLAY PLAY!" I would remind him calmly to be patient. He would fold his hands, smile at his obedience, and then climb on top of the conference room table.
Then the meeting would begin.
I don't know if demure babies are created by God or by their parents. All I know for sure is that I'm a reasonably attentive parent, and I haven't stumbled on one of them yet. Last week we joined our church, and took both children into the service to be a part of the announcement. I basically had to manhandle the boy to keep him in the pew for fifteen minutes. We were in the front few rows, directly in Brian's line of vision, and Silas kept calling, "DADDY! 'MERE!" But he loved the worship time. He kept watching my mouth and trying to sing along with me, or Brian's fingers on the frets and trying to imitate him with his own little hands. So sweet.
It was a year ago this week that I sat in my pediatrician's office with an (uncharacterically) shaking voice and said, "I feel like I have a newborn. He screams all day long," and she - always calm, always engaged - said, "That sounds like reflux to me." God bless her for taking me seriously. A year ago this week marks the time that I stopped surviving Silas' babyhood, and began enjoying it. A week later I saw him laugh at his brother for the first time ever (I KNOW). It was a year ago this week that the fog lifted.
When you throw a child into mid-air, there is a quarter second when he is suspended in nothing, not yet falling back toward your arms, not yet sure if their breathlessness foretells doom or exhilaration. He'll catch his breath, wide-eyed, already grinning, already anticipating the fall, never looking away from me.
Silas lives in that moment.
Everything is worth trying, everything is worth opening or splashing or (God forbid) drinking or throwing. The nature of the rush is yet to be determined, but even if it's disastrous, it's still going to be fun. And though his voracity takes my breath away, I just can't get enough of that kid.