men are different than women, which is perhaps the most obvious statement of all time. they are direct, practical, thinkers. this isn’t to say that women aren’t those things as well, but we tend to be more emotional, more passionate. we attach importance to objects, songs, smells, and moments in time. we are romantic.  i’ve always found it frustrating that men are more ‘closed’ than women. sure, they feel things. but they process those feeling quickly and then move on. they don’t linger and analyze like we do.

so when i found out i was having a little boy i was slightly concerned. i worried that he would be born with the emotional availability of a full grown man. that he would feel joy or fear or frustration and i wouldn’t even know. that i wouldn’t be able to tell when he was excited or scared. that i wouldn’t be able to connect with this tiny man on a pure emotional level.

imagine my surprise and elation at discovering just how open he is. he feels everything so fiercely, and is led by these emotions. each feeling amplified. the cat walking into the room is the happiest moment in his day, until some other trivial occurrence unseats and replaces it. not being allowed to chew on the diaper rash cream is the most frustrating thing he can imagine, until he can’t… quite… reach… his favorite toy. every feeling is a live wire. a raw nerve. the thrill of discovery, the frightened whimper when i move out of his line of sight, the angry shakes of his chubby fists when he is told ‘no’.

i know that as he matures the wide grins and fat tear drops will be replaced with the eye rolls and sullen glances of a teenager. i know that in turn they will give way to the warm hugs and smiles of an adult. but i also know that i am forever grateful for what i have right now, a view of his precious heart before the walls go up.


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