“Is he doing what I think he’s doing???” I half-whisper, half-squeal to Mike from across the room, working hard not to destroy the magical moment that was potentially happening mid-way between the two of us. “Oh yeah – he did that once earlier…he may have started while you were out of town,” Mike says nonchalantly, averting his gaze back to one of the ten thousand basketball games that were on this week.
Shaking my head at the lack of excitement that tends to belong to the male species when it comes to babies mastering milestones, I wait patiently and quietly, craning my neck to watch Lawson in his “alone play time” encouraged by his teachers and parenting magazines. After a few moments of the wait and see charade, I see him thrust out his elbows, spread his tiny little fingers and bring them together, back and forth, back and forth. Little echoes of claps travel across the family room, Lawson’s brow furrowed with concentration and his skin sticking together with drool and leftover squash. Working it as if it were his nine to five, he did it over and over again with the kind of determination seen only in the finest of Olympic athletes.
“Buggggyyyy – I’m so proud of you!” I say, enveloping him in my arms and showering him with dozens of tiny kisses, hoping the positive reinforcement would encourage the little guy to keep up the antics. “Yaaaayyyyy!” I say as he shares his secret trick for me, our eyes locked, his searching mine for acceptance and acknowledgement of this new feat. And so we continue, over and over again, the simple art of clapping and I feel my heart expand even more in places I didn’t even know I had.
He’s happy. He knows it. He claps his hands.
Way to go buddy – we love you.
Video available as soon as we figure out how to download the darn things