this kid rocks my casbah. he's wily, and pretty eloquent for a four year old. not that I'm biased, or anything. heaven help me when he starts reading in a couple of months and starts asking the really big, difficult questions. there are no words that can adequately explain the sheer terror and ecstasy involved in being someone's mama. it still dumbfounds me when I wake up in the morning and his huge melted chocolate eyes are staring into mine. he has my mouth-my grin-wry already in spite of his lack of years. he makes me want to bake cupcakes and hula hoop. such a fresh soul. then he makes me want to rip every follicle of my hair out. the hardest part is that I'm no longer with his dad-I won't really give him the title of father- and I don't get to control that part of his life. I would never cop to being a control freak but there you go. It makes me want to inhale guacamole by the pound just thinking about it.ha. or wine. lots of pinot noir. live and let live is so simple to say and so terribly hard to do. I was looking at the stars the other night thinking that there were women all over the world with this searing conundrum-their hearts no longer reside in their bodies, but instead are ambling about in the free, dangerous, exhilirating world with a propensity for scarfing down goldfish and jumping off of sofas. he looks just like a little boy, but really he is the personification of every single desire I've ever possessed distilled into the essence of sweet chubby feet and brown sugar smooth skin.my little dark peach. my creme brulee.
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