Space and Time

It’s no easier trying to be loved than trying to be the lover. To give the love, the receiver should be open and trusting and just receive with an open heart the gift of generosity. Because let’s face it folks, none of us are really worthy of being loved for what we really are. But the person who wants to love us, loves us for what they see in us. For whatever potential they see in our hearts and spirits to come out and spring forth. They see past all the crap.

Yet, for many of us, we can’t be either of these people. Giver or receiver. It is impossible for us to give love, for we are afraid our gift will be ignored, returned or trampled on. It is impossible for us to receive love for we are afraid the gift we are receiving is not genuine, will expire or has conditions. Limitations set up before the gift giver got to the playing ground. The rules set before the players got a chance to ask why.

Well, I have my own rules too.

I just don’t know what they are. And I’m sorry, because if you are ever trying to give, I’m a shrew. And if you ever try to receive, I’m overwhelming. Your fucked either way. You should know that right now.

Take a Xanax. Or run. I don’t know what to tell you.

I have been watching Joshua for the past couple of weeks, really watching him. He’s developing his own personality. He crosses his ankles when in his high chair, eating. He reads the phone book for fun(inherited the sparkling personality from me, what can I say). He takes he socks off when he sleeps. He trips over his feet(once again, from my side of the gene pool). His eyes twinkles when he’s learning something new. He clings to my shirt when a stranger comes by, as if I might sell him to the highest bidder if he should let go. All of these little things that are so much clearer to me that even two months ago, I didn’t see. I wish I did, but I didn’t. Now I do. I love watching Joshua put his blocks together. He puts them in the back of his truck and pushes them around the living room, like they need a different scenery. He carries a pink bear around to chew on, and if someone else touches, he’s not afraid of becoming macho in 2 seconds flat.

I bought him a toddler bed this month. Not because I’m opposed to cribs(dear GOD NO) but because I had put together the one he had when I was pregnant and he climbed out of it once too many times and it feel apart. Money wise, it just made more sense to transition to a toddler bed. He looks so freaking grown up in it and tiny it at the same time, it is indescribable. On the one hand, he is big enough to stay in a big boy bed. On the other, he cuddles with his blankie and bear and cup and for a fleeting second, still looks like a baby. Paradoxical. One of many I find myself staring at. On the one hand, he’s a growing child, learning to cross the street with me. And the other hand, he’s afraid of the strangers coming at him on the other side of the street.

I don’t know how to tell him, so am I.