Yesterday morning I walked Thurston into daycare before I went into work. He toddled along side me, holding my hand, taking in the sights around him and was for the most part quite content to do so. That was of course until the truck went by. Bam! His legs stop still and I am sort of flung back like a rubber band to his tiny feet anchored in one spot. His eyes widen and his head turns to follow the truck as it goes by us and idles in front of the traffic light. In any attempt to move forward (away from the truck), I met with a squalling, screaming, and let me add: fists-banging-on-pavement child until the light changes and the truck rumbles on its own way. Finally released of his bonds (eyes glued to rumble rumble rumble of the truck), he continues on with me as content as before. Moments later, a bus chugs by and we start our struggle all over again.
Did I teach him to stop and squall over trucks or buses? Did I try to tell him it was really fun to watch him teeter over the side of the stairs, or stand up on his rocking toy, or plunge his bum into the ocean surf over and over until sand is crusted into every niche on him? Where did he learn how to be such a boy?
Who knows? As much as I am swamped with fear over his daredevilish ways, I can't help but be completely infatuated with him. Boys boys boys! I love this kid.
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