The Ballad of Baby Ray

There was a time, a long time ago, that it was just Baby Ray and I. Brian and I were seperated for a time, and it was just me and my boy.

I lived for a time with my parents, then I rented a room from a family that Bri and I knew. One of the constants during this time though was weekends at Auntie Gaaca’s.  I would fall asleep, watching TV, in the recliner. With Baby Ray in my arms. Gaacca said that we spoke our own language, in our sleep. He would murmer to me, I would murmer back, we’d cuddle and slip back to sleep.

I worried and fretted. When he started head-butting (at the ripe old age of 6 months), I was convinced it was either a seizure or autism. He knocked out one of my teeth and still I just kept going. When he was late walking, talking… I was in the doctor’s office, changing doctors, doing the mommy thing.

But the thing is… I’m jealous.

For all that it used to be the Baby Ray and Mommy show, now Mommy has been bumped for Daddy. He runs around, plays with Daddy. They play cars, watch movies, go out, have fun. Me? Well, we still play, but unless it’s just me and Ray I sometimes come in second place.

That’s as it should be. Father’s and sons need to bond. This is good not only for Ray but also for Brian as he gets to relive a childhood that he does not remember.

But still.

Sometimes when he’s sick, and he crawls up into me and hangs on, my heart melts. I know it’s not entirely right, but I enjoy these little moments carved out of something bad. Snuggles, sighs… Because for all that Daddy is his playmate, it is Mommy who is his rock.

I can do that.

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