Oranges

My nine month old son loves oranges.  Minneola, Mandarin, Satsuma, all of the above.  Today was that rare sunny, almost warm February day and we needed to have a picnic.  Bridger got his first grass stains on his pants . He was filled with exhilaration, he serenely explored the earth with his fingernails and his mouth.  As I was setting up our blanket and making a little pile of Cheerios, he spotted the orange I had brought for him and flipped out.  I could barely get baby bite-size pieces to him fast enough as he climbed up my arms and grasped for it, making his excited sounds which remind me of someone hyperventilating.  And every time I put a little piece of orange in his mouth, he grinned at me- that big, four toothed sign of unabashed delight.  Beautiful Exuberance. It's astounding how your children's joy- and sorrow- knocks the air out of you.

In high school Creative Writing class, an exchange student from Germany read a poem about oranges once.  "Take life like an orange-" she read her poem aloud slowly, enunciating each word with tenderness and a slight accent shaping her words, making them sound like something entirely new.  The poem was about eating an orange that burst and dribbled juice all over your face and hands as you ate it.  It was about being enraptured with life.  Rapture, something I remember being so effortless when I was young.  Running was so thrilling you had to squeal and maybe even throw your head back as you moved, not nearly as fast as you thought you were moving, every moment at risk of tripping because your steps were not cautious.  And so we fall, and we gradually trade rapture for caution.  Which may not be a terrible thing, as our parents no longer stand just within reach, our source of safety and survival. It is due to their diligence and care that we were able to lose ourselves in that joy, throw caution to the wind.  Now I am the mother.  Now I trade my thrills in for diligence, for my son.  But his joy is enough, so much more than enough, for both of us.

The past nine months I have stumbled through parenthood haphazardly, dazed, half-asleep.  Today was sweet. Today was delicious.  Today I wanted nothing more than what was right in front of me.  I was enraptured.  Maybe it is possible to have both.