Dancing with David

It's a kind of dance: At times we hold each other close, then swing out with hands still joined; now separate, now back together.

It's been like that with David lately. Lots of cuddles and tickle time, lap time to listen to his tales of the day and his latest imaginary racing car adventure. Then he takes off into his own space, exploring the other end of the block on his scooter or playing quietly in his room with his cars.

Then there are the other moments, usually at the end of a long day, when we're off to Jurassic Park. Like the other night when it was bedtime and he refused to budge from the bathtub. Or last night when he insisted on putting up the Christmas tree and his dads were just too plain tired. Suddenly the shy kid who just a year ago wouldn't let go of my hand at the park, the sensitive kid I sometimes feared was "too good for his own good," now insists loudly on having his own way.

The next morning we talk it all through, tickle and cuddle and tell stories and play with cars again, knowing that the hysterics may reappear later that day.

Yin and yang, move in close, separate, then repeat. In ways big and small, over the course of a few hours or a week. This week at least, it's the dance we do.