Boy 1 1/2

His every movement is tender joy
his every sound light and new
his entire body is round,soft love.

The little boy was here again today
with his jelly toast face and big blue eyes
and curly little blond head.
He stood at the end of the hallway,
his eighteen-month-old body bent slightly at the waist
and turned towards me with a ten-toothed grin
that crinkled up those incredibly open eyes.
His little arm came up, the forearm vertical,
his perfect little hand waving a profile of a wave,
only the flawless miniature fingers moving.
Quietly he turns away, still grinning.
He walks, then trots on his sturdy, little perfect legs,
tottering a little but oh, so confident,
to his oh, so pregnant mom down the hall.
He grins up at her, his magic key to the world.
She sighs, immune to his charm in her state,
ands turns back to the laundry.
He helps her, of course,
until she looks at him and sighs out his name.
He turns with a giggle and trots back down the hall.
Head up, arms flying, knees pumping,
‘til he rumbles to a stop in front of my spot on the couch.
He pauses for a moment, assessing the situation.
The perfect little arm comes up again into wave position
and his fingers move, deliberately, individually, up and down,
the smile lights up and he’s off again, silently.
He disappears ‘round the rocking chair and into the kitchen.
I listen carefully for a few moments then call out his name.
Soon I see the little blonde head
moving slowly ‘round the rocking chair.
His steps are small, casual, but searching for intent,
ready to go in any interesting direction.
His eyes search the room,
calm but filled with anticipation
of finding something fun to do.
He spots his coat lying on the rocker ottoman.
The eyes light up a little and he grabs it,
purposefully with both hands,
turns carefully and trots away.
I hear the loud little footsteps
cross the kitchen floor then stop.
I imagine him carefully feeling with his foot
the little step up from linoleum to dining room carpet
where he tripped and fell many weeks ago
when he was not so very accomplished at walking.
I waited for a minute or two, I knew what he was doing,
our outside boy.
I got up and walked across the living room floor,
around the rocker to where I could see him,
standing there with his coat in one hand,
dragging the floor, and his other hand
pressed to the edge of the door
where it opens up to the outside world.
“Going outside by yourself there, Boy?”
He turns, grins, then turns serious
as he quickly raises his arm in an arc just above his shoulder,
one of those fingers extended, pointing at the door, at the outside.
“Unk!” He says emphatically and quickly drops his arm.
“Unk”is his only word.
It usually means “doggie”
but sometimes means “outside where the doggie lives”
The “unk” barks on cue
and the boy again points, “Unk!!”
He grabs his coat with both hands
and brings it up over his head,
as far as his short-armed,
little boy torso would allow,
and pulled it down across his head and shoulders,
poking one arm in the air as he did so.
He looked down at it a little puzzled.
“Need a little help there Buddy?”
I took his coat from him, turned it ‘round,
and held it out so he could get into it.
He turned and shuffled sideways
in tiny little careful steps with his arm held out,
staring intently at the arm hole.
I move the coat just a little
and pulled it on.
He turned his head to try and look over his shoulder
as his arm curled back and those fingers moved
in the direction of the other arm.
With just a little help the coat was on
and our out side boy turned once again toward the door
but not before he flashed a big, excited grin.
I could see those loose blonde curls
on the back of his perfectly shaped head.
“So, you want to go outside Andrew?”
He turned his face toward me,
very serious, and then back to the door
with his hand pressing at the edge,
the little fingers working,
his tiny fingernails scratching the surface.
I repeated my question and waited.
He stubbornly, quietly persisted.
The dog barked.
“Unk!!!”
Those incredible eyes sparkled upon me,
Entranced, I opened the door