As I write this, he’s sitting here with me completely calmly, playing with the doodads on his exer-saucer as he’s done for almost an hour now. Meanwhile, my daughter has come in and out of the room two dozen times, found all sorts of things we didn’t want her to, fallen and cried and begged for dinner.
Every time I say something to Webber he gets a big old grin on his face. I just can’t believe how easy it is to make him happy. In some ways I am totally envious, but at the same time I’m just so thankful for my daughter, it’s hard to think of anything else.
My brother is one rambunctious dude. I’d always figured that his kid would be even rowdier than mine. True, we still don’t know what he’ll be like when he’s older, but at this point, it just goes to show, you never really know what kind of personality your kid is going to have before they pop out into this world and we see it for ourselves.
Now, as I write, Celia has come back into the room and played with every single bob and bobble on Webber’s play-space. He just sits calmly sucking his thumb. Celia leans in and gives him a kiss.
This is why I have to move back to Montana. She needs to grow up with this charming, roly-poly relative of hers. They need to hang out together.