Henry was an early talker. I feel like we have been having meaningful conversations for so long that I can barely remember life before our daily exchanges and negotiations about topics far and wide. Lately Henry has been totally fascinated with bones and how our bodies work. His absolute favorite story comes from good-ol' (and so sexist/not of this time) Richard Scarry-- a tale we refer to as "Lowly Worm, Broken Foot," We tend to read about Dr. Lion and his X-Ray machine at least once a day. Sometimes I start to think that maybe Henry will take after his Aunt and Uncle and become Dr. Goose, but as fascinated as he is with medicine, he has been quite clear that he'd rather be a bunny or a bulldozer operator when he grows up. Any and all options are good with me.
Henry's bone interest extends to dinosaurs and humans alike. The other night our conversation about dinosaurs took an existential turn pretty damn quick and I felt just a moment away from fielding the BIG questions. ALL the big questions, and oh my sweet boy, do I know the existential crisis well. If you're bothering to read my blog, then you are probably equally aware and annoyed by this quality-- my nihilism, in an Alvy-Singer-not-doing-his-homework-because-the-universe-is-expanding type way.
It's a condition that often frustrates me about myself, yet I must also credit it with some of my better qualities and experiences. The need to find meaning has led me to my most authentic moments... in love, family, friendship-- in my work, and of course as a mother. Henry's question about dinosaurs: "Where are they? Why do we have their bones? Why are they not here?" triggered a visceral reaction in me; a deep longing to shield him from all the complex realities of human life for as long as possible, but that just isn't how this shit works now, is it?
Existentialism aside, being Henry's mom has been the single greatest privilege of my life and his affection, sweetness, curiosity, and humor has illuminated my existence in ways I never could have imagined 3 years ago. I know it's not a remarkably young age, but I never expected to become a mother at 26. There he was though, my Henry Goose...the boy who even this nihilist knows was meant to be. I'm delighted to know him, and here is a cute video of him reading a book.
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