Becoming
The young parents gathered, waiting for the door to open. Here there was boundless energy, the conversation filling the air. Off to the side, two definitely more aged people, grandparents, watched, smiling and wondering how anyone could hear what was being said above the din.
After entering the room, we situated ourselves and readied for the onslaught. Within moments a stream of two through four year olds marched in, each searching for the faces that belonged to them. Among these was the one carrying our heart.
We were instructed to sit on the floor, allowed to cuddle with the reason we were there. Ours sat on his grandma's lap, and readied for the moments ahead.
Then it began. This was a celebration filled to overflowing with song and story. Stomping and dancing, up and down, a constant movement of body and mind. And one who had not taken to speaking early was now crooning every tune in a language that was not his own.
Sometimes you can forget the joy of what parenting a young child is about when those days are far in the rearview mirror. But here was this little one, so comfortable in his environment, so ready to absorb the lessons of the day.
As our moment together ended, as the assembled children processed out into the waiting arms of what was next, we, the grandparents among a sea of mommies and daddies, understood our enormously good fortune.
As our two year old grandchild ran into the playground and headed for the tiny house that was calling his name, he turned and threw us a kiss.
He seemed so much older than he had but a few minutes before. Growing before our eyes. Becoming.