I’m outnumbered. I’ve lost the battle.
This is a typical scene at our house. Garage male bonding. Just like my husband, my son is already tapping into his inner grease-monkey. Like father, like son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Blah blah. I get it.
Welcome to my life. Noisy, messy, dirty, garage-y. Is it normal that our baby is quite adept with a screwdriver at this early age?
I must say though, there’s nothing quite as adorable as these scooter-fixing moments. Sticky Baby fascinated at everything that goes grate squeak bang clash. This is his mecca. And Papadada’s face lighting up when he sees the joy registering on his spawn’s face. I can hear the inner monologue from here:
Ahhhh, that’s my boy
All I’m good for during these moments is holding the camera and saying “ooh” “aah” “wow” and “sweet Jesus, watch the power tools”.
No words need be exchanged during these exclusive, boys-club moments. These dudes understand one another. There is mutual respect for all things oily, greasy, rusty (ooh that reminds me - ask pediatrician about tetanus shot - kidding!).
Sticky Baby, spend as much time as you want in the garage with your father. Treasure those moments. Learn from the master. Soak in the passion that is ‘tinkering’. But please, for your mother, will you promise to take me out to coffee every now and then, when you’re older? Will you sit down next to me on the couch and ask me about my day? Will you spend a Sunday here and there in the kitchen with me, trialing new recipes? Will you still come bike riding with me, even when you’ve well and truly outgrown your blue and green froggy helmet?
I would sure love that:)