"Extremely Fascinating", Well Perhaps Not Anymore

Mr. Laura was an easy child for me to fall in love with. He was this incredibly happy, easy-going, snugly baby. He only had eyes for me for the longest time (I'm talking years and years and years.) . I must say I savored every moment of it. He learned how to charm the socks off of me from his earliest words. As a toddler, instead of saying "up" or "hold me" when he wanted to be picked up, he would toddle through the house declaring, "I want to hold you, momma". Needless to say he made me feel like he was doing me a favor by allowing me to heft his 30 or so pounds at his every whim. And needless to say, I picked him up often. As his vocabulary increased so did the words that I would find irresistible. He would still tell me he wanted to hold me and after I indulged him by picking him up, he would tell me things like "You are beautiful" or "You are delicious". As he grew and began to ask all of the "Why?" and "How come?" questions, he would often say, after I answered his questions, "You are extremely fascinating". Again and again he would manage to turn the situation around to where it was I who felt I had been given the greater gift in our interaction. I've been dreading the day that I would be replaced as the center of his universe. I know it will happen. I know it should happen. I already see signs that it is happening. So far it has been a nice gradual process. He hasn't completely pulled the rug out from under me. Things may be a changing though.

The other day we spent the afternoon at a friend's house. Mr. Laura, rather than playing with the other children, chose to spend his time with our friends' two dogs. A blissful and content expression settled on Mr. Laura's face for the rest of the day. After returning home, he described in great detail his afternoon with the dogs. He was very animated in his speech and gestures as he described the dogs' personalities, what he liked about each one, and how they interacted with him and each other. He then asked if animals had doctors. I said yes, they are called veterinarians. He declared that he would like to be a veterinarian and asked how he could become one. We talked about what kind of schooling was required. Always the planner, he wanted answers to such practical questions as Where the school was?, When could he start?, and my personal favorite, Would I be able to drop him off and pick him up from school?

I explained that although he was too young for formal training yet, that it was never too soon to start learning all he can about the animals he is most interested in. The more he learned now the easier school would be. I also mentioned that when he was a bit older he could volunteer at our local animal shelter and then as a teenager probably get a part-time job at a local veterinarian's office. Again he had some practical concerns, such as, Will I have to perform surgery on the animals?, How will I know what medicine to give each animal? and What if the dog is bigger than me?

Later that evening he approached me. Pen and paper in hand and poised to take notes, he wanted to know "what are the medicines that animals take?". When I explained that it depended on what was wrong with the animal. He then asked, "What kind of diseases do animals get?". I suggested that these questions were too broad and that he choose a particular animal to study. A bit disappointed that I was unable to provide him with a complete and comprehensive answer to the disease pathology and pharmacological treatments for any and all animals, he replied, "Let's keep it simple. How about a cat?". "Wild cat or house cat," I inquired. "House cat," he stated. I told him we could look for books on house cats the next time we were at the library. The disappointment became more pronounced across his face as he, maybe for the for the first time, realized that I don't know everything. He certainly at that moment did not find me "extremely fascinating". Ready or not Mr. Laura is growing up.