Owen's coming, it is cold.
I am thinking about the days when Owen would arrive, a sleepy bundle of baby boy and how I would take him out of his car seat and hold him to me, that wrapped up bundle and how different it is these days when he bolts out of his car seat and demands it all- chickens and dogs and goats and play, play, play.
"You need a diaper change, Owen?"
"No way! Clean!"
Oh, that boy. He's growing up so fast. Before you know it, he'll be potty trained. Just in time to demand the bathroom every time his mama sits down to nurse the new one coming.
I know children. I know their devious little minds.
"Do you love your Mer Mer, Owen?"
"No way!" and then peals of laughter and I attack him and demand my due and I sweep in to kiss his neck, his belly, to squeeze him to me.
"Hide!" he says and we pull the cover up over our heads and we are camping in a tent, hiding from the world, we are Owen and his Mer Mer, we are cowboy and grandmother, we are playing and then a train comes by and he throws himself into my arms.
"Scared!" and his eyes are wide as saucers, he is smiling, he is no more scared than I but what fun to pretend he is, to pretend, to play, to say "No way!" to spend the day with Mer Mer and he is no longer that sleepy bundle of baby boy but a bullet of a boy, a banshee of a boy, a bushel of love, of deviousness, who stomps around in my big red boots, who rides his horse with his cowboy hat on, then pats the horse's head and says "Good boy," and who has ridden into my life with such fierce abandon, who has stolen my heart, who still likes to view the world from my hip.
Owen's coming. It is cold but it will warm up soon and we shall have adventures.