We went to the dollar theatre today to see The Princess and the Frog. Jack ate an entire box of Milk Duds and half a bag of popcorn, and he laughed like a crazed little loon at the onscreen hijinks. I guess it was pretty good. I can't be sure. I sat there for an hour and a half and watched Jack.
I watched the way he oh so carefully lifted the bottle of Sprite to his lips, struggling a bit with the 20 ounce bottle that was too big for his grip. I watched how he scrabbled around in the popcorn bag and was able to completely fill his hand with just four or five pieces of popcorn. I saw him eat the candy, saw him completely unconcerned with the smears of chocolate all over his face. I watched his eyes shine. I watched how he laughed with his whole body, little legs sticking straight out over the edge of the movie seat. I watched how he shuddered and shook when the "bad guys" caught the unwary frogs, and he scampered over to sit in my lap. I looked at his soft little hands as he patted my arm subconsciously, saw him seeking comfort from contact with his mother in a way so natural he didn't really have to think about it. I noticed the little dimples at the bottom of each of his fingers. I held him tight and closed my eyes, relishing how he still fits in my lap just so, and how when he leans back, I can rest my chin on the top of his head. He smells like Buzz Lightyear shampoo, and he's soft and slightly sticky. And I know.
I know with a certainty that stings my eyes and squeezes my heart that this won't last. So today, I spent an hour and a half just looking at my baby.
