After a long day I am resting in the bed. My son is next to me, much occupied in reading a book from the Garfield series. At the age of six, he has managed to fall in love with this famous, smart and lazy fat cat. When he came running into the bed earlier, I thought he was going to start with one of his usual demands and ask me to play with him or read with him. But he came carrying his book and started reading quietly. He is lying on his tummy and is focused on his book. His eyebrows are slightly twisted and his feet are moving back and forth slowly. It is getting harder to tell which one is Garfield.
I am watching his feet in mild amusement for they look like they have grown so much. The slightly curled up toes are reminiscent of the tiny baby feet that used to barely fill my palm. But the soles of his feet have a curve now and that tells me they have grown. The book reading is still going on. I have nudged him twice already and asked him if I can tuck him in his bed because it is past his bed-time. Nope, he has stated firmly that he wants to keep reading the book. The font in that book is so small; I don’t know how he is reading it. I am convinced that he doesn’t understand half of the jokes in that book but his obsession to keep reading is adorable nevertheless. I am actually a bit relieved he doesn’t understand all the jokes because that gives me a small, perhaps false assurance that he is still not that big – he is still my baby.
I want to get up and give him a tight hug. But I am afraid that I might disturb his reading. Even though usually he is ready to cuddle, on this one occasion he might just frown and push me away. Instead I exhale slowly. I am going to have to just wait. And while I am waiting, it is fun to follow those feet going back and forth and think of the day when they are going to be big — bigger than my feet and perhaps unrecognizable.