I have a confession to make. I am jealous. Of my son. He is 21 months old, and experiencing the world for the first time. He has no preconceived notions, there are no dangers (at least until he stumbles upon them, sometimes literally), and few disappointments. In short, the world is an amazing place!
We went for a walk the other day, and I had forgotten how long it takes to walk with a toddler. We only went about a quarter of a mile, but it took almost half an hour. Every crack in the pavement had to be inspected, every pebble checked over. Even the mail boxes needed a through look over. Every. Single. One.
And as obnoxious as this was (especially after the first block), it was a great reminder that I have the ability to shape how he views the world. For the next few years, there is little that he will experience without my or my husbands direct influence. And that is a little scary. To know, that what I allow him to see and hear, will shape the soon to come preconceived notions, the dangers, and the disappointments of the world.
Oh to be a toddler again, when the greatest trouble in the world is when mommy puts the ever loved, ratty, and very smelly blanket in the washer, not to get it back again forever. (only an hour, but that’s forever for a toddler) Or when the older sibling takes away those glorious writing utensils that make such pretty colors all over the floor. And the greatest joys, when you receive that much-loved blanket back, or rocking with daddy before bed.
So yes, I am jealous. I can’t see the world with brand new eyes, or take such pleasure in the mail boxes along the roadway. And yet, I can still enjoy the small things, and watch my sons experience life for the first time. Knowing that, it’s enough.