Puttin' on a Show

I've been in a lot of pain this week. I think my back relapsed. Or something.

So, I took a little longer in the therapy room at the chiropractor appointment this morning.

Normally, T Junior stays in his umbrella stroller behind the receptionist desk and spins the extra office chair around and around like the teacups at Disneyland. Lately, however, he cannot be contained. Monday, when I came out of the room, he crawled up to me with a face that said, "Hi Mommy. Where you been?"

Today, I returned to quite a scene in the small square waiting room.

I heard laughing first and when I rounded the tall desk, the scene was revealed. There was my son in the middle of the floor. The wooden blocks from the "stuff to keep your kids busy" basket in the corner were scattered evenly across every square foot. Two adults on opposite sides were sitting in the front row seats at his show. They all smiled up at me. "Oh, is he yours?" "He is so cute." "So smart." "Such a happy baby." "Can I buy him?"

He waved a half-sucked block above his head: "Look at me, Mom! I'm awesome!"

I got down on my knees. "Oka-ay. Let's clean up the mess."

"Oh no, no, no," said an aging man, leaning out of his chair to pick up a board book. I waved him off and smiled. "Thank you. He has to learn to help, though."

I looked at T Junior. "Oka-ay, let's pick up our toys." Mom's always the bad guy. Always ruining the fun.

"Oda-ay!" he hollered from center stage. The audience laughs.