The Freshness of a Dream

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Zeke has started to get more and more mobile. His tumbling crawl has turned into a frighteningly fast scoot, and his small size means he gets into little nooks that Ryan and I have trouble following him into.

Yesterday, Zeke crawled around Ryan's office chair and under his desk, looking around, mesmerized. in my attempt to keep him from banging his head on the metal legs and from pulling out all the wires behind the desk, I followed him into that little nook.  He reached for the side of the desk and pulled himself up. Then, like he always does, he craned his head upwards and looked, lips apart, eyes wide open.  couldn't help but look up with him, and in that moment, Ryan's uninspiring piles of notes and papers took on new shapes, forming strange silhouettes against the glass.

Psychologist Flavell said that he would gladly trade all his award to be able to see through a child's eyes for just a few minutes. I'm not quite able to see through my baby's eyes, but at least he invites me to see from his vantage point. And even through my wonder-less adult eyes, I see the world a new way.

 In the words of Wordsworth,
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
     The earth, and every common sight,
   To me did seem
     Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.


A baby helps shed this celestial light again, and I'm thankful for the beauty that Zeke shares with me.


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