ballon in a hurricane.

they say not to use walkers.  i have always deemed this slightly crazy, i mean i understand the stair danger.  and i understand lazy parents that use them as baby sitters.  but we don’t fall into either category so i always used one every now and then.  some circumstances call for it.

like today, today was a gorgeous late spring day.  we all piled outside, lincoln running around throwing balls and playing with his water table.  dad grilling.  stella was in the walker so that she could be a part of it all.  and there she was, wearing a yellow and white polka dotted romper and nibbling on animal crackers, when lincoln decided to jump up on the edge of the walker, tipping it over.  she goes down.  i heard screams and walked outside to matt and my mom trying to quickly pick her up and dust her off.  it’s not the first time she’s been dusted off.

at the ripe age of 7 months she has been hit in the head with numerous basketballs and footballs, been kicked, hit, pinched, hit in the nose with books, and who knows what else i don’t witness.  one time i heard her scream and suddenly lincoln ran out of the bedroom and came up and hugged me (a preliminary “i’m sorry”) i never did figure out what happened.

it’s not that we don’t watch out for her, or attempt to protect her.  we do.  i am actually more protective of her.  but lincoln is a force to be reckoned with.  he means no harm.  he couldn’t love stella more.  he spends the majority of his time taking care of her.  bringing her toys, bringing her food.  he actually supplied her with the animal crackers she was eating before he flipped the walker.  he spends a lot of time hugging her.  she’s his ‘ball’.

when lincoln walks into a room things start to fly.  noise levels are raised.  things start moving so fast life becomes a blur.  that is lincoln.  a fast, loud, blur.  and stella is usually sitting somewhere, tracking the blur with her big thoughtful eyes.  she often holds her hands in a mediative pose, thumb and finger touching in an ‘O’ shape.  her lips are pressed together and she is staring.  thinking, watching, waiting.  every now and then she will burst into laughter, usually at some antic of lincoln’s.  he tends to stop moving long enough to make her smile or laugh and then continues on.  and she stops laughing and sits again.  waiting for his next pause.

lincoln has been compared to a tidal wave, a force of nature.  he blows through life like a hurricane, picking up speed as he goes, sucking everyone in.  and stella sits.  and floats.  forever the balloon in his hurricane. bobbing along, occasionally getting hit by debris, and waiting for the eye of the hurricane.  waiting for the moment when he stops moving long enough to grab her, and laugh.

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