Nearly every blog post I’ve written in the last two years have been written with Owen in my lap. He’s a delightfully cuddly, sweet boy. Unfortunately, he’s also in love with the tappety-tap of the keyboard and likes to jump in and help every minute or so. Actually, if you count the time he spent my lap while in utero, then it’s been almost three years that Owen has been helping me blog.
WE’RE GOING to conduct a little experimENT AND I’M GOING to not correct / ediT OUT Owen’s contributions to this post. For example, he’s CURRENTlY PLAYiqnJ7RW7JREYY7657TUHKUL PLAYING WITH CAPS LOCK… AND SEVERAL OTHER KEYS TOO.
ACTUALLY, SCRATCH THAT. TOO DISTRACTING.
Ah. Much better.
Owen’s Love Language, without a doubt, is physical touch. At this moment, he’s sitting in my lap and leaning back against my chest. He’s resting his arms on top of mine as I type, with one chubby hand hooked into each of my sweatshirt sleeves. Every 30 seconds, he lets out a sing-songy little “hmmmm.”
I love this physical connection with him; it feels like the last surviving element of his babyhood. Hmmmmm. Now I’m sighing.
Owen is a very independent player and enjoys playing with small animals or pretending with his latest companion, a raggedy stuffed bear he was given during his summer ambulance ride. He’ll play on his own for around 20-30 minutes, but takes frequent breaks to come for a hug or request “up, peez!” I scoop him up and snuggle my nose into his warm neck, but it only lasts a moment before he’s squirming down to return to his game.
Owen’s uncomplicated nature is so easy to love. In a world that is complex and challenging and oh so BIG, Owen is small and simple. Snuggle his neck. Read a book while he burrows into my lap. Tousle his hair. Wrestle around on the living room floor. Stay put when he drapes his chubby leg over mine on the couch, or twirls the scarf around my neck. Easy. Peasy. Lemon. Squeezy.
I guess I just wanted to write this down. Since, in his own words, he’s getting “biggew and Biggew and BIGGEW!”