Updated: July 15, 2021
Originally Published: November 2, 2005
First, he mastered the fundamentals: how to smile and laugh. He discovered the art of sleeping, sitting, and holding a spoon. He learned to grab his toes, shove a fist in his mouth, and cling tightly to a blanket for comfort. He progressed to crawling, walking, and then running and jumping, stretching up high like a tree and crouching down low like a lion. He made music with pots and pans, constructed towers only to knock them down, and rolled balls before tossing them.
How naive I was to believe this learning journey would plateau at one or two years old. The quest for knowledge is unending, each day offering new lessons to embrace.
He has explored buttons and Velcro, the importance of dental hygiene, and the proper way to flush a toilet. He’s learned how to pull on socks, brush his hair, and how to close a door without pinching fingers.
He has experienced kisses and tears, yawns and burps, and learned how to blow his nose. He knows the sting of a bruise and the sorrow of breaking something precious, yet he has also discovered the power of healing.
He has learned to write his name, draw whimsical houses with smoke curling from the chimneys, and play games like dominoes and Monopoly. He knows how to spell “mum,” “fun,” “sun,” and “van,” and that leaving a finger space between words is important.
He has figured out that fishing takes patience, that washing the car isn’t a one-time chore, and that cookies taste far better when made from scratch. He has learned that sunburn is worse than sunscreen, that face paints can be fun, and that dogs can be gentle while birds are beautiful, with squirrels likely not stealing his toys.
He has come to appreciate that few things rival the joy of stickers, that every bath is spacious enough for two, and any party worth attending will have sausage rolls and jelly. He knows which herbs to snip from the garden and that the fork should be on the left while the knife goes on the right. He has learned that sometimes, it’s okay not to worry.
He has also found out that Googling pictures of “poo” is a rather questionable choice. He understands that good manners and a wide smile are always well received, that it’s perfectly acceptable to say “no,” and that distance does not diminish love. He has found dinosaurs to be more fascinating than frightening, and that picking lemons from your own tree is an endless delight.
He has discovered the joy of dancing, learned about ladybugs and dragonflies, spider webs and snowflakes, harmonicas and tangerines, and even salt. He has realized that on tough days, stepping outside is essential, that no sea is too cold for paddling, and no day too rainy for ice cream. He knows that a closed door signifies privacy and that a notebook by the bed is never too early to have.
He can locate Tasmania on a world map, recognizes that haircuts go quicker if he stays still, and believes tomato soup is the ultimate remedy for a cold. He has learned that sometimes the best gift is a treasure found on a beach, that postcards are not solely for vacations, and that there is no such thing as having too many books.
He knows that peas grow in pods while babies develop in bellies. He has learned about fireflies and thunderstorms, Santa and heaven, rainbows and hiccups. He understands that feeling sad or angry is perfectly normal, but a friend can often chase those feelings away.
He has learned that the best days begin and end with a hug in bed. He knows that making others laugh is a wonderful sensation, that fizzy drinks are overrated, and that crafting poems requires effort. Much to his dismay, he has also discovered that most people do not marry their kindergarten teacher.
He understands the difference between floating wood and sinking stones, that telling a good joke is more challenging than it appears, and that coloring within the lines is merely one way to do things. Some challenges—like losing a wobbly tooth, battling insomnia, or enduring long car rides—must be faced alone.
In just six years, that is an immense amount of learning. He is still practicing with zippers and scissors, swimming and skipping, erasers, shoelaces, and kiwi fruit. He’s working on learning about hard cheese and celery, and putting capital letters in their correct places. He is learning to share attention and affection, to ride a bike without training wheels, and to navigate the ethics of standing on ants.
Sometimes, when exhaustion hits, he misses his mouth while trying to eat a spoonful of yogurt. He may fumble through his home reading book and toss it across the table in frustration. He might storm up the stairs, muttering under his breath.
He is a work in progress, with plenty still to learn. But so am I. So are you. So are we all. If you’re interested in exploring more about parenting journeys, check out this insightful post about family life at Modern Family Blog. And if you’re considering options for family planning, you might find value in this reputable retailer that offers at-home insemination kits. Additionally, for more support regarding pregnancy and home insemination, visit this excellent resource here.
In summary, the journey of learning never truly ends. Each day brings new opportunities to grow and discover, both for him and for all of us navigating the complexities of life.
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