Year 1, Day 258

Prior to Jackson's arrival, Mike and I would go out to dinner once a week and sit for hours talking about our lives and hefty goals for the future.  After five minutes of that, we would inevitably end up discussing the latest kitty antics we witnessed that week. For instance, "OH MY GOD, did you SEE the kitty catch a glimpse of himself in the sliding glass door as he ran by? He went completely "halloween" and tore off sideways into the bedroom." Or, what do you think our kitty would do if we took him to the beach? I'd argue at Mike's insinuation that he'd just bask in the sun . . I'd assume he'd be more curious and adventurous. Perhaps he'd chase after crabs or run for cover in the Cape dunes? It was all a fun game, not to mention a pathetic representation of what our life was like.

But we loved it . . . and it hasn't changed much.  Because now, instead of monopolizing the conversation with kitty talk, we obsess with Jackson stories. We talk about the coy smile he flashes, or the hat he won't take off ever, and we laugh thinking about Jackson at the beach . . . what will he do?  Will he run straight into the water with glee, or will he sit in the sand and dig trenches all day? I'd argue at Mike's insinuation that he would want to be floating in the water the whole time (because Mike is a Pisces and he'd like to do that) . . . like the kitty, I'd assume that he'd be more curious and adventurous. Perhaps he'd run over to other little kids his age and make friends/girlfriends or maybe he'll want to try wakeboarding?

And this conversation could go on for hours, as we speculate the things that Jackson gravitate toward. All the while, though the kitty knows he's not the center of a verbal exchange as often as before, but he still knows he's loved . . . he curls right up on his mama and closes his eyes to sleep. I love our simple life.