The Moments - Chapter 1: Language Without Words

                I’ll always be the first to admit that having a child was not a plan of mine, not something I specifically pursued, and not even really something I assumed would happen in my life (some men don’t have much of a biological clock). However, I will also be the first to admit that my life has been so much better and happier and more focused since Joey Grimes was born. Since December 28, 2011 (yes indeed, we added another birthday to the winter schedule with the rest of the family), most everything I have done or pursued or arranged in my life has been for Joey or because of Joey. This is not an “ain’t I a great parent” declaration. On the contrary, it’s an “ain’t I got a great son” statement. He has made my life better, pure and simple. In these early months of his life, he often makes things better simply by creating the experiences that a daddy needs to have or giving me a laugh or a smile when nothing else can or by reminding me that he knows and can do a little (or a lot) more than I think he can or just by taking me back to my own childhood in some way. Some of them are one-time occurrences, some are routine for Joey and me. All of these things, all these happenings that touch my heart or stir my mind or remind me of the honor it is to be Joey’s daddy, are “the moments.”  Some of the moments that stand out are those from the months before he could speak in words but said so much with his actions and expressions. 
                When Joey was only a few weeks old and would fall asleep at the drop of a hat when I held him, I was still in that phase of thinking I was holding a little China teacup and could break him if I breathed (better to be over-cautious at first, I guess). There was also an air around us that said the world was watching and wanting me to fail, or at least to fear too much, in my dealings with my son. The first time his tiny hand wrapped itself around my thumb, I nearly jumped. He’d never gripped me at all before. His hand was so soft, and I was still so nervous. He looked up at me as he did it, and it was as if he was saying, “It’s ok, Daddy. We’re a team now. I can hold you too.” It was a little thing, but it was one of the most empowering moments of my life. As young and small as he was, he seemed bigger than both of us in that moment and was my comforter when I thought it was always supposed to be the other way around. Sometimes still, his grip or a look or (now) his sweet toddler words can make me feel strong, just as they did then.

                As Joey’s physical skills started to take shape, I was always fascinated to observe him.  From rolling over to sitting up to crawling and, eventually, standing, the evolution of his skills was a display that I could never watch enough.  A few weeks before he was full-on crawling, Joey could often set himself up in the crawling position but not propel himself.  The first time I witnessed this, he was on my bed.  When I saw that he was up on his hands and knees but couldn’t move, I assumed that his being on a mattress was preventing him from getting a stable start.  The next time he did it when on the floor, I realized that the entire crawling engine just wasn’t running yet.  Joey would prop himself up as if to crawl and, sort of, wobble and shake like the coordination to move hand and leg in the right pattern was not yet in him or that he simply didn’t know what was supposed to come next.  On multiple occasions, I saw him do this for a few minutes at a time.  Then finally, in exasperation, he would bury his face in the surface he was on (still propped up in a crawling stance) with a very adult look of annoyance on his face.  A couple of times, he cried a little over it.  It wasn’t the “world is ending” cry that babies sometimes unleash.  It was an “I’m really ticked off right now” cry that anyone could understand.  To try to lighten those moments and become part of the act, I would get down in the floor with Joey and get in the crawling position myself.  I wouldn’t move until he had at least tried.  But, once “the look” started forming on his face, I would crawl a couple of steps forward and a couple of steps backward and talk Joey through the process and encourage him to keep trying.  Sometimes, he would smile or laugh at me doing that.  It didn’t necessarily help his budding crawling abilities, but I like to think that Joey could already see that I don’t mind and genuinely want to see the world from his level as much as I can.  Honestly, it looks better from there.
                Speaking of Joey’s view of the world, he had a favorite book during his crawling-but-not-walking months. During his first summer, he would often aim for a large book on our bookcase filled with beautiful pictures taken across Tennessee.  It was something I acquired during my days working on the Hill and had not thoroughly looked through it before.  Thanks to Joey, I now have.  Perhaps it was just because the book was large enough to stick out beyond the front end of the shelf, but Joey seemed to reach for it every time he crawled anywhere near the bookcase.  He would pull it off the shelf, and I would pull him up into my lap and open the book.  Though too young for a roadtrip, Joey got an early tour of his home state with his Daddy, and Daddy was reminded of Tennessee’s natural beauty thanks to the curiosity of one who had never left Nashville up to that time.  I can’t wait to show him every corner of this state and beyond.  I think that seeing it with him will open up all the cool stuff I haven’t caught yet.
                Whether they are speaking in words or not, our children are always communicating with us.  As much as I love hearing Joey’s well-developed (for a 2-year-old) vocabulary, I still catch myself translating his words into the wordless language he used not so long ago.