We're Shadowboxin' Babe

I am recalling the first night the three of us spent together, as a family. Walk with me if you will. Two young lovers, just wed. Nine months carrying a concept that I still find it difficult to wrap my brain around. Then, finally, that concept turned reality... the transformation occurring at an immeasurable rate. I have a still image embedded into my memory of the three of us lying in bed... Derek and I next to each other, babe on my chest. Each of us with a complete stare filled with void and exhaustion, from a very unexpected and difficult labor. The numbers that appear as a glow on the digital clock turned into some kind of galactic blur. It must have been five-thirty a.m.... Forrest would not sleep.

Desperate to find a way to steal an hour of sleep I began going through all of the gidgets and gadgets that were collected as gifts for the baby shower. I felt as if I were living the story of Goldielocks and The Three Bears as I passed Forrest in and out of swings, slings, and swaddlers. None of them seemed quite right. At last, with eyes and fingers crossed I lay him down in the bouncer that was gifted by our sister-in-law. I flipped the switch that provoked vibration... and a solution. Forrest had eyes... closed!

Since that early morning, that bouncing contraption had become the throne of joy and pacification. Three woodland friends suspended above our son's head looked down upon him. Eventually as he became more aware, Forrest responded with upward glances of fixation. One woodland friend in particular, seemed to steal his attention.

Mr. Fell T. Owell became very dear to all of us. He became the topic for all conversation. Forrest's first coos were sung to this special little dangling ornithos. He provoked his first spontaneous smiles, as well. Shortly after Forrest began to fine tune his hand-eye coordination I detatched Mr. Owell from his place and handed him to Forrest. I swear I heard his heart melt.

It has been decided as of late that Forrest has outgrown our friend. His viewing range has surpassed Mr. Owell's capability for entertainment. So, he is retiring to a special place. He will hang as a relic of a very revered and dear past on the wall in the nursery tucked inside the confines of a shadowbox... where his presence will remain appreciated for many years to come. Thank you, Mr. Owell. It has been a splendid three months.