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I’m feeling a little bit better now. No, I still can’t control the left side of my face. This reality is still very much in my thoughts. I’m just tired of bitching. I’m not done with bitching, mind you. I’m just tired of doing so — for now.

Part of the reason has to do with acceptance. After a while, everyone, including me, stops listening. Part of it has to do with life. I’ve heard it goes on.

It’s certainly going on for my young son. I’ve mentioned his spurts of rapid growth before. The last couple of weeks qualify as a growth spurt and a half.

He sitting up now, although not entirely by himself. He teeters and totters. Anxious parents await the inevitable topple. A shoulder hold is an opportunity to stand on my lap. He rolls both back and forth, combining the two as a new mode of transportation, which the wife has aptly named log rolling. He’s mobile, although still quite slow.

His surroundings are suddenly filled with objects of fascination. Nearby objects are no longer decoration. They are food. The various trinkets that border his crib are given the investigative treatment. Silverware must be pushed to the center of the dinner table. Baby proofing is no longer a future concern. It is a present one.

The transformation from tiny baby to mobile infant is both mesmerizing and startling in its sheer speed — discovery at a wicked pace. Today, he sprinkles my wife’s ears with “mommamamamom”. Tomorrow, I’ll be attending his college graduation.

While I may miss the days when feeding was as simple as a well placed bottle, I’m thrilled to watch him sieze the nipple and discern its use for himself. It’s a good reminder that I’m not totally in control. It’s also a good reminder that these days there’s little time to stop and smell the roses — no matter how good, or bad, their scent. There’s just so much else to do.