C I P R I A N I

The Young Man is getting bigger every day.  Learning, growing, grasping, smiling.  My son is a neat kid and my wife and I are enjoying him quite a bit.  His temperament, by and large, is fairly pleasant, save for the occasional 

fit. 

The daily occasional fit.   

It’s fine, we’re extremely lucky.   A lot of the time we at least have some idea where it comes from – hunger, tired, gas.  However, sometimes it just comes out of nowhere, inexplicably.  But it always subsides and like Dr. Jekyll, he goes back to his cheerful self.

What strikes me the most (and sometimes this doesn’t even erupt into a full scale fit) is The Struggle.  

Be it gas or a complete evacuation, the way his face goes crimson as his body tenses and strains as his eyes squeeze shut, like a miniature Bill Bixby about to metamorphosize into the Incredible Hulk is cause for concern.  I almost always expect him to tear off his PJs, turn green and grow 10 sizes immediately.

The Struggle.

The Young Man is fighting gas … or in some cases, poop.  And my, what a shocking hold it takes of him.

Now, of course, other times he just sits there calmly, in fact, even smiling, as (by the sounds of things) Mt. Vesuvius erupts in his Pampers.  The Young Man doesn’t stir as seemingly a dump truck unloads nine tons of plaster into his pajamas, he doesn’t wince as apparently a fountain soda machine lets loose thirteen pounds of ice and 32 ounces of Fanta into his lounging attire.  He doesn’t bat an eye when it sounds as if there’s an old fashion popcorn popper at work in his drawers.  Not a peep.   

And, yet, other times?  The Struggle.

And what can I say when my Boy, clearly in great pain, struggles like that?  I have to be square with him:  

It’s only going to get worse.  

Right now, he’s got the best diet he’s ever going to have with the Mother’s Milk.  As he gets older, it’s only going to get more complex and complicated – the body’s going to have to break all that stuff down.  

Now at a few days over three months old, I’d figure this pang of discomfort would come as less of a shock to him, but alas – The Struggle continues.  

We’re going to try to put him on a healthy diet, but as he gets older and just starts eating … food – well, this is the best it’s going to get.  

Sure, we can pretend he’s going to go green and vegan and never have a Steak, soufflé or a nice glass of scotch.  But if this is the case, he won’t be dining with me on my birthday.  Ok, maybe he’ll grab salad while I continue to slowly destroy my insides because his mother is involved.  And he probably will have a better diet than me … 

“My boy Bill will be tall and as tough as a tree!” 

I grew up in the 70’s and 80’s where carcinogens and corn syrup were the accepted bill of fare for a growing boy.   Christ, you read the list of chemicals in the stuff we ate it’s a wonder we’re not all dead…or Superheroes.

So try as I might, I’m fairly certain there will be a time when he hears the clarion call of the Keebler Elves and I don’t know if I’ll be able to deny him.  Those midgets are relentless.  

But all things in moderation, right?  After all, that’s the Struggle, isn’t it?  Somedays your insides erupt with the fury of what seems like a thousand cannonballs exploding in your belly, other days you smile without a care in the world.  And for The Young Man, these very emotions swing from moment to moment, hour to hour.

His needs are small:  Food, clean diaper, love, shelter, and sleep (which he’s doing oh, so peacefully now).  Yes, this is indeed the best it’s going to get for him.  Perhaps I can learn something from him.  He’s only a few months old and already has a pretty good handle on what’s essential.  The rest of the stuff that comes later both good and bad is really gravy … and often gravy, though it adds flavor, can also be the source of The Struggle.

But that’s the stuff of life.  What is it that Woody Allen said?