Tate perspective

I have been in a Tate-marveling mood lately. Not so much by his newfound abilities to clap in time with the rhythm of music or run full-tilt around corners without a) wiping out, or b) slowing down, but more at his ability to constantly be open and present, with no expectation nor motive. The magic of children can be taken for granted because they behave in ways that we expect children to behave. No one says, "Yep, Timmy's just acting magical again today." But really, they are. If we stop and truly watch, we can see how different their reactions are to this mysterious world.

"The Thinker, With Yogurt."

Every time I put Tate in the car, he wants two things: a car (preferably green, shiny) in one hand, and his pacifier in his mouth. That is all he asks for. He has absolutely no idea what we are doing or why, and he doesn't really care. Sometimes, I put him in the car and we go to the grocery store. Or to the park. Other times, we go to the airport and he spends the next twelve hours on my lap, soaring six miles above the earth and lands in a completely different climate with strange new people. Then there are times when I put him in the car and he ends up getting poked and prodded by a woman in white who and ultimately draws a needle needle out and injects it into his flabby little tender arm. There are times when we drive for awhile and suddenly, the whole world has turned white, quiet and very cold. Or we emerge from the car and see a vast stretch of sand and sea. He has no idea which one it's going to be any given time I strap him into his car seat. He doesn't protest, he doesn't get anxious: is it going to be the needle or the beach?? He just smiles, sticks his paci in his mouth, grips his Hot Wheels, and hopes for the best.

I know that on an intellectual level, he is not at the stage yet where we can have discussions about why we do these strange things every day, but I am not marveling at the fact that he doesn't attempt to ask. It's the openness, the joy he expresses in welcoming all (well, most) new experiences, and the serenity he has about the fact that he truly has no control over his life at this point. He just takes it all in stride, happily, peacefully, trusting that whatever it is and wherever we go, it will be okay. I find that amazing. We do so much to plan and prepare for our own happiness, and then here this child is, happier than all, with no plan, control, or knowledge of what's coming next. I want to learn that from him.

And here is another thought: I don't know if Tate has the mental capacity to know that he will grow up one day. Like, he may very well think that he hangs out with mom and dad and his friends and their parents, and that some of us are short, others are tall, some speak in words, others speak in grunts. In essence, he may think that this sort of handicapped-state of being a toddler -- not being able to say most things or reach most things -- could be his lot in life. Again, his joyfulness of being fully in the present with whatever physical, mental and emotional limitations he has at this stage, is humbling. 

I have been thinking of this verse in Matthew: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven," and it makes sense. And I think of Le Petit Prince, and the innate wisdom that children have, and how we might spend our whole lives trying to remember that dreamy time when we didn't try, but just were.