slow ride

i think you're trying to tell me to slow down.

my life is too full.  full-time mommy during the day, part-time librarian during the evenings and weekends, playdates, keeping up with the laundry (and the dishes, and the vacuuming, and scrubbing the toilets...), and the thousand other little tasks and responsibilities that fill everyone's life.  i try to stay on top of things, but more often than not, life runs me over like a dump truck (or, as you would put it, "dump car").  it seems like when this happens, you have this habit of taking my face between your tiny hands, looking earnestly in my eyes, and saying, "mommy."  sometimes you redirect my attention to your trucks, or to whatever show you're watching (usually pocoyo or little bill).  but sometimes, you just stare at me, like you want to tell me something but you don't have the words (or the fully developed rational thought) to express it.  sometimes, i feel like you understand more than i give you credit for.

i could be wrong.  it happens.  i mean, you're barely past your second birthday.  you talk all the time, but only about a third of it is made up of actual words.  you haven't quite yet grasped the relationship between cause and effect.  maybe i'm just projecting my own thoughts onto you.  maybe some hidden, ancient part of my brain is trying to get a message through, and the only way it knows how to do so is to tell the larger, more conscious part of my brain that my son understands the important things in life better than i do.

but sometimes you amaze me with just how much you do understand.

i think you're trying to tell me to slow down.  and i'm trying to listen, i really am.