The Miracle of A Baby’s Laughter
One of our friends gifted Dmitri a piano gym, which is a miniature “piano” combined with a mobile (pictured here). When he kicks the plastic piano keys, they play a note. When he’s done kicking, the piano belts out one of four songs (each of which are now seared into my memory).
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Today, Dmitri and I played a game where I danced every time one of the songs did it’s thing, but only while the song was playing. All other times I stood still. He figured out right away that a kick to the keys equaled dancing daddy. He laughed every time I danced and kicked like a maniac until I danced some more. I did the cabbage patch, the robot, and even the twerk, the last of which elicited the most laughter.
All I could think while playing the part of Daddy Dance Monkey was, “Children are miracles.” Even something as simple as Dmitri’s laughter melts my heart in a way nothing else ever has. If watching me dance makes him happy, then I shall dance. Because at some point in the not-too-distant future he’s going to stop thinking that me acting the fool is a joyous occasion. Instead, he’ll roll his eyes at my horrible twerking. He’s not going to be my little miracle forever. Before I know it, he’s going to be a surly, brooding teenager.
Now I get why people keep telling me to cherish these moments while Dmitri is still a baby.
