The truth is, it's hard to be a little kid.
Last week we visited the zoo. The zoo has all sorts of things: Asian gardens with shimmering golden koi, fruit bats, a pair of enormous rhinos, a little red train with a real whistle, lumbering gray elephants, a baby giraffe, a stingray exhibit where you can hand feed the rays, a carousel.
My boy has always been scared of carousels, with their tall, undulating animals and tinny pre-recorded music. I have never been able to convince him to sit anywhere but in the one place that doesn't move: the ornately carved seats traditionally dripping with cherubs and ivy. To him, the stationary seat is a safe haven, a place he can wrap his little arms around my neck and cover his face if necessary.
But when we got on the zoo carousel, the safe seat was taken. All that was left was a zebra wearing a red bridle. My boy screeched, he fussed, he refused to get on. I told him it would be okay and lifted him up anyway, showing him the seatbelt that would hold him in the saddle. He clutched the brass pole with small, white-knuckled hands, terrified for a few seconds as the ride started.
And then ... he discovered he liked the view from up there. Parenthood is full of all sorts of moments--painful, excited, proud, happy, worried--but very few of them are transcendent. This was one of those rare ones. No longer terrified, my boy lit up like a firework, tiny explosions of joy crossing his face as he realized he wasn't scared anymore, he was big, he could do it, and he loved every second.
"Mom!" he said, "This is the best day of my life ever!" And it was. He smiled, he laughed, he scanned the crowd around the carousel for his father and waved like a celebrity. My boy took a deep breath, screwed up his courage, and grew a little right in front of me. Just like that, we found ourselves knee deep in possibility.
Happy New Year. May 2012 be the best one yet.
