Saturday is our day to have The Baby.  He’s three and a half now, but we still call him The Baby, and probably always will, even to his great discomfort.  Saturdays have been our day together since he was an infant, and we all look forward to it.  He loves the beach, of course, but in recent months, with his increased mobility and insatiable curiosity, he has discovered the woods behind the house, and the garden.  It must all be a magical place to him, the trees, the paths, the slopes to climb, the deck steps, the plants growing almost before his eyes, the sunlight, shade and color.  He has invented a number of games out there, in which we must participate, of course, and he helps Papa in the garden with weeding and watering.

Today, after a good romp out back, we went to Bicentennial Park, about a mile south. This is forty acres of Florida scrub, from ocean to Intra-coastal, and containing  picnic pavilions, tennis courts, ball fields, wonderful hiking trails, and a fishing dock and kayak launch on the Intra-coastal. We’ve been taking The Baby there since he was, well, a baby. Today we did the trails, which wind through the woods over some pretty hilly terrain for this part of the world.  He had to run the whole way, of course.  Coming out, before we went out to the dock, flushed and tuckered, he requested to be carried.

We have a set routine when The Baby comes over, and if we leave out something, or vary it too much, he lets us know.  After morning play we have lunch together, then he brushes his teeth, and we lay down together for a nap.  He has been calling his blanket a “Nits,” all his life, and the Nits, which we keep in a closet here, must accompany him to the back bedroom.  If we forget, he’ll ask where it is.  Perhaps anticipating the decline of his grandparents, today he brought one with him from home.  Snuggled down with the Nits, we then must sing the song we came up with a couple of years ago especially for nap time. This is the most important ritual of all, around which all else orbits.  The Baby sings it very well now, and has, in fact, taken to jazzing it up a little in a variety of musical styles from Punk to Rap.  He still sometimes fights going in to take a nap, but the ritual is so comforting to him, it is a half-hearted, and brief protest.  He has settled on a satisfactory compromise these days, saying he is just going to take a “little nap.”  After the song, he is conscious for about a minute, then sleeps for an hour or two, and then we take him home or, like today, Daddy comes to get him, and we go down to the beach.  A little too cool in the water yet for swimming, (we thought,) but we all traipsed down for some time in the sun.  The Baby, of course, just had to get wet, charging into the shore break, then retreating with a shriek as it chased him up the beach.  He’s a piece of work, for sure.

Back up to the house for a shower, then supper.  Don’t know about The Baby, but the rest of us are worn out.

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All the trees and bushes fully leafed out now, early but intensely green and beautiful.  The canopy back in the little hammock is complete, with just bursts of sunlight allowed through when the wind stirs things.  Colors at their most vibrant for the year.  Can’t hold it; just noting.

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