My son is awesome. He is a pocket rocket, and at twenty-two months, gone is the baby he was (last week…?!), and a funky little man he is.
The other day he also taught me a lesson in keeping it real.
Bath time for us is Dad and son time – him bounding upstairs, the ritual him hiding and cackling as I run the bath and then me pretending to have to find him. Dad finds Gus and hilarity ensues. It’s what makes being a parent an amazing, humbling experience (and puts the ledger from poo-splosion to fun back in the latter column).
In the bath he went, motioning for me to sit on the stool next to the bath. As he does….!
Eventually with a menagerie of rubber ducks, plastic octopuses, and bath books, I tuned out. I was there, but I wasn’t, mulling over some issue in my mind, the thousand-yard stare I suspect fixed firmly.
I was me in a place I didn’t need to be, and Gus sensed it.
He reached out, grabbed me around my neck with his arms and smiled.
“Ish ok Dad, ish ok.”
It’s ok, Dad, it’s ok.
Happily shaken from my self-discussing reverie, I felt a tremendous sense of pride. Gussy had sensed I wasn’t quite right, and responded.
It made my week. He made my week.
I gave him a huge cuddle, taking his lesson on board.
Yes mate, it’s ok. It’s ok.
You learn much from life every day, but fewer lessons I’ve been taught have been as gratefully received .
“Ish ok Dad.”
Yes, Gus, it’s ok.
And you, son, are awesome.