My days are lelllo and booo, filled with beez, peopled with kakas, bebes and kets (or miaaows, if you prefer).
And when there's durdda, it's only frightening if it's really, really, close and loud.
Else, it's to be enjoyed and soaked in.
Not just in any old, sedate manner, either.
The joy must be shouted out--to the treetops, who cares if the neighbours hear and wonder if we're losing our marbles?!
Not baby, anyway.
Being with him, is like learning to love the small things, all over again.
Who knew that an ordinary razor can transform into an endearing "dayzur" or that my old cellphone charger could become a shurzha?
His world is full of strange sights and sounds. The rain is to be loved, totally, completely; the breeze embraced--tiny face alight, eyes shining, arms and legs reaching out. Cats are to be waved at, so what if they merely stare back like obelisks? And who knew colours could speak? Yellows are so much more interesting as lelllo, blue is so much more fun as booo.
For our little fellow the world is just waiting to be discovered, to be experienced with open-hearted wonder, not weariness and cynicism.
We were all like him, weren't we, but we changed.
Did we grow up or did we simply stop living?