Young mom's baby reminds her of youth, then and now

Here is my latest Daily Press column:

Recently, I caught myself clucking at the office printer.

My father-in-law has a few chickens in a coup at his South Carolina house, and we’ve decided that "cluck" is the first animal sound my 11-month-old son should imitate. That and "woof woof" so he can play with our Weimaraner, Lady.

It seems, though, that I’m taking away more from these lessons than Brody, since he hasn’t deemed it necessary to cluck like a chicken, yet.

But regurgitated farm animal sounds aren’t the only evidence of my backslide into babyhood.

Since Brody first scooted across the room on all fours, I’ve rediscovered the thrill of crawling through the house in search of the wild wonders of domestic life.

On our side-by-side adventures, Brody and I maneuver to the top of the stairs and slip our way past the spilled water from the dog’s bowl. The magic of a flickering hall light keeps us occupied for no less than 10 minutes and a bucket of fishing crickets is not something to shirk from, but to dive into.

Laying cheek-to-cheek on the floor, we browse our favorite book about a sad bumble bee who can’t understand why humans run away from him and giggle when I take his pacifier and put it in my mouth.

And when I collapsed with laughter after my signature waddle/crawl/bunny hop, all done with a pacifier in my mouth and eyes rolling around in my head, I realized I had turned into a baby.
It’s not exactly that I’ve recaptured my youth — I’m only 24 — it’s that Brody reminds me to cherish it.

While I’m playing with my son, I see the world from his vantage point. And it’s a goofy, strange world. The space underneath the pool table is the perfect setting for a fort and the feet of the kitchen table are not only shaped like lion’s paws, they’re as big.

At times, I become so absorbed in my baby’s world, I forget that there’s an adult land waiting for me when the games are over.

As a child, I was always ready for the next step. Like most kids, I thought that bigger was better, and I was ready to grow up. It still irks me a little bit when someone reminds me that I look like a teenager. (I know, that’s almost as bad as Jessica Biel complaining that she’s too beautiful. Boo hoo).

But I wanted to play with the big boys in a big boys’ world.

That meant instead of dolls and Barbies, I asked for gifts of office supplies so I could realistically play the part of a lawyer or real estate agent. Interior decorator was another favorite role.

I sat for hours arranging my desk, neatly placing date stamps on important documents and making phone calls to other very important, very busy pretend lawyers.

I even considered law school as a way to live out my childhood games, but the reality of adult land prompted me to change course.

Now, the childish games that once bored me are exactly the amusements I seek.

Maybe it’s the sparkle in Brody’s eyes when he laughs at our peek-a-boo games — a sparkle my husband says only I can see because I’m his mother — that draws me into a child’s pretend world.

Or maybe it’s the fact that our contorted faces and high-pitched baby babble makes me laugh even harder than Brody.

Whatever it is, it goads me into playtime when laundry is stacked halfway to the ceiling and I should be thinking about a well-rounded dinner instead of another frozen pizza.

I may not remember having this much fun playing peek-a-boo when I was a kid, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do now.