Today we have a guest post from Writendad who writes a great blog called Filets to Fishsticks. After reading the post below head over there and read some more and make sure you click on Gallery to view the beautiful pictures he takes as well.
I pick Him up all the time. To carry Him without having to wait. To remove Him from an area. To tickle Him incessantly and then round it off with a raspberry from hell. That’s the real reason. To torment Him when the only defense He has is to flail about in the air and squeal with tortured delight. But the other morning I took a beating. It’s far from the first time He’s attempted to scale Me, but this was the first time I really felt it.
And when I say scale, I mean it. Like an awkward mountain goat on a piece of playground equipment. Everything is fair game if it will get Him to the top, and it all begins when He grabs My belt with His toes. As soon as those wicked little things find their niche, it’s over. Anything waist up from that point on becomes fair game. And I do mean anything. Hair, ears, cheeks, shirt collar. It’s slow torture. And this last time, when He decided that sticking a toe in My belly button could provide some extra umph, gave ‘torture’ some new depth.
I couldn’t decide whether My body wanted to pee, shut down, or collapse in pain. And He couldn’t decide where to step next. Well, I didn’t give Him that option. The adrenaline flowing at full speed to My belly button, in an attempt to keep Me from passing out, somehow enabled Me to peel Him and His vicious toes from My scarred body. It was over. He laughed and went about His play. I stood, beaten, mauled, and conquered.
Yet I have learned nothing.
Just today I picked Him up again, right after work. All 40 some pounds of six year old glory. I couldn’t help it, though. He may be six, but He’s as holdable today as He was 4 years ago. Plus, He spared Me this time around. I could see in His eyes that He was aware of His power, but He spared Me, and for that My belly button is grateful.