Tip of My Iceberg

He’s all boy.

Awed by glitzy lights. Easily distracted. Committed to sports–all sports. Gravitates towards big game animals. Is focused on his own comfort. Loves to eat and sleep whenever it suits him. Fully expects others to satisfy his needs.

I’m in no way guy bashing. I happen to love that gender. But I am amazed at how my grandson falls so quickly into the world’s stereotypical male role. At eight weeks.

Lights are wonderful distractions. Constantly changing lights (think concert strobes) seem to be especially captivating. When he’s upset, finding moving lights or fans works wonders. Colored lights are a whole other interest.

Thanks to relatives, he has a variety of outfits that reflect a future athletic nature. He has baseballs on his bum, soccer balls on his shirt, footballs on his jacket. Much like my husband, he’s an equal-opportunity sports enthusiast. At least in wardrobe.

The hunter mode comes out in the onesies with African animals on them. Or maybe it’s more of an ecological, save-the-planet attitude. His room is done in an elephant motif, with a particularly large elephant his folks will use to gauge his growth. Hunter or naturalist.

He’s obsessed with his needs. Food is a huge issue. When he’s hungry, he wants to be fed immediately. When he’s uncomfortable, he wants the gentle solace of his parents. Or anyone willing to gently sway back and forth for whatever time it takes to calm him.

Huck’s a baby. With needs he can’t satisfy himself. Important needs.

I’ll confess to wishing I could get such immediate responses to my needs. Real or perceived. I have days when screaming at the top of my lungs sounds like a very good idea. Though I know it isn’t socially or culturally acceptable.

There are days when I just want to be held. To know I’m cared for. It may take some work to quiet me  because, quite frankly, it’s hard to accept that someone would take the time to do that when I’m acting with obnoxious drama.

I’d love to have a personal chef prepare my meals. Ones I like. Ones that make me happy.

But I’ve grown up. I’m an independent, self-sustaining woman who makes choices based on my perception of my needs. And greeds. Though there are times I want to be cuddled, there are times I want to be left alone.

God gets that about me. I think I know what I want. Often my desires are more to meet a surface symptom than a deep need.

God knows the difference better than I do.

“For God knew His people in advance, and He CHOSE them to become LIKE His Son, so that His Son would be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.”   Romans 8:29

I’ve not stayed a helpless, choiceless baby. God is making me a reflection of Him, more like Jesus. It means making wise choices about what I do, how I think. Wise decisions about who I am. Who I’ll follow.

Growing up? I love the options. Huck will, too.

Some day.