Solo Bambini (Or So I Thought)

Tonight I took Jericho to the play park in Torri again. I expected it to be crowded and loud, but this time there was something different, a feeling. There was a nervousness in me that I couldn't shake. There were more kids than I expected. I made my way to the back, toward the Baby Area, got out JJ's baby towel (in case of drool or spit up) and a toy in case the huge bouncy balls got stolen or were just too much for him, and I set him down. It was almost like he recognized the place, though we've only been once before. He kept looking back at me and smiling, as if to say, "You knew just what I needed." The kids started getting a little rowdy, so I made sure to stay close to the baby, making sure he was safe from the ones leaping over the foam barriers and running wild. There's a sign over the Baby Area stating that the area is for children younger than 3 years, but it's obviously not enforced. The only visible employee in the place sits at the register and takes admission fees. Parents just sit and watch. Jericho made his way toward the jumper ball - I'm not sure what they're called; you hold the handle, sit on them and bounce - and for a while we stayed in one corner. Safe. But only until one kid - and there's always that one kid - who made a flying leap over the barrier next to us, directly over Jericho's head, and right into my arms. I caught him mid-air, gave him an angry Mama Bear "NO!," pointed to Jericho and sent him on his way. He had to be around 5, 6 years old, no mom in sight. Now, I know I'm a tad overprotective. I know that. But in a place that's supposed to be safe, playful and happy, it can be scary for a 9-month-old who's not used to all that noise. I love looking out for him. I love watching out for hidden dangers and scary people. I want him to feel like he's safe when Michael and I are around, and that nothing can harm him. I know in the back of my mind that that's not entirely realistic, but it's the sense of security I'm going for. The trust. The reassurance that we'll take his side, even when he's wrong. And when big mean Italian kids want to leap over him in a fit of unbridled, wild excitement, he can look back at me with those big, bright blue eyes and just know.

Yes, baby. All the days of your life. That's how I love you.