Mr. Henry Teaches a Lesson

This is going to seem biased, but I think that Henry might be a genius. I mean, seriously, he is showing signs. I'm making an educated guess here that he will probably grow up to be the most brilliant, awesome, and charming human ever (think Sherlock Holmes meets Indiana Jones with a little Aragorn thrown in there too). However, in spite of how incredibly clever he is, he has moments that make me believe that he is not ready to solve cold fusion just yet.

Consider the following, increasingly common, scenario: the adventurous and inquisitive, newly mobile baby is gleefully crawling around on a search to identify any object that could become a choking hazard (and he gets creative with it--believe you me). His motion brings him to a solid object like the couch, my leg, a wall, a pillow, and once even the toilet (yes, the bathroom door is always closed now). Henry attempts to go through said object, and after two or three tries his "angry face" shows up. Now, like me, my son cannot maintain the emotion of anger for long. In fact, for him it lasts only a second or two before the angry feeling collapses into grief. But for those brief seconds Henry frowns slightly, narrows his eyes into slits, scrunches his nose in the most impressive of ways, and then breathes loudly through his nostrils, like he is trying to stay calm. Suddenly his head falls as he weeps, while continuing to try and push it through whatever obstacle he is facing. This continues until I pick him up and turn him in another direction. I find this phenomena amusing, particularly when the impassable object leaves a plethora of directions available for travel, and Henry has mastered the skill of turning already. The problem is that Henry is so fixated on his goal that it blinds him to anything else.

On another note, this was Zac's first week of working a night shift. While we are grateful for the work I really hate our new schedule. And when I say hate, I really mean that I abhor it with the strength of a hundred grizzly bears. When Zac called to tell me he had gotten the job I burst into tears the moment our call ended, then dreaded it enthusiastically until his first day. Hours before he left I cried again, tearfully admitting to him that I had secretly hoped that he would not be chosen for the position, and find a different job instead. He tried to comfort me with sincere sympathy, and then charged heroically into the night to provide for our family.

This is not the first time that something in my life has not gone the way I wanted to, and it won't be the last. Our ideals and realities rarely co-exist. It was on my third day of associating only with a seven month old and actors on netflix for the better part of each day, feeling disgruntled and defeated that I realized I was behaving just like Henry--Like. A. Baby. I was so focused on not getting what I wanted that I didn't notice that even a slight rotation in my attitude would give me good opportunities. Maybe they wouldn't be exactly what I wanted, but they would be better than sitting around feeling gloomy.

This metaphor provided by my son beautifully illustrates how silly we all look when we approach setbacks without the proper perspective. As I try to teach Henry how to patiently choose a plan B, I will strive to learn the same principle and live it. And voila--there you have it: even in his less intelligent moments Henry is capable of inspiring epiphanies and reform. Biased or not, that is impressive. He may solve cold fusion after all.