Wilson

Last fall, after a frustrating string of interviews and dead-ends, my stint of unemployment ended and I was hired in at a daycare center. Though I had babysat as an adolescent, I had never really taken care of "baby" babies. The children I watched were generally off of bottles and swaddlers. Hence, my anxiety skyrocketed when I was handed a tiny infant WHILE being interviewed. Her name was Claire, and she is a true spitfire. Claire's now in the toddler classroom and not so tiny, but still very much a spitfire. I think I will always hold a soft spot for Claire- she was the real interviewer that day. She squirmed and squawked as I awkwardly hugged her to my chest, and cooed her using my gentlest tone; clearly, she was determined to put me through the ringer, make sure I could cut the mustard, yadda yadda. Meanwhile, I thought "I would either love it here or hate it." Luckily, I managed to jump through every necessary hoop and land the gig. I have been an assistant teacher ever since, and miraculously, I happen to love it.

In mid-December, the mother of a two year-old named Charlotte, came in with her brand new bean in tow. A little, shapeless, dumpling named Wilson. I peered over into his car-seat and saw a shrunken potato, slumbering soundly. To be honest, I did not find anything particularly cute about him upon my first viewing, but I fawned and fussed as if he were the Gerber baby. I didn't think much of this brief interaction until 7 or 8 weeks later- when he was enrolled into the infant room. The infant room just happens to be one of the several classrooms I frequent. My job description includes the term "floater", which is exactly how it sounds- I float. I move between classrooms and maintain order while the lead teacher goes on break, or leaves for the day.

Anyway, it was another hectic day in the baby room; bottles to warm, diapers to freshen, solids to prepare, etc. We had 10 infants enrolled at the time, and it seemed as though each one were hellbent on screaming themselves into oblivion. All, except Wilson. He spent half the morning slumped in the swing, sleeping, with a mysterious little smile on his face. While all the other babies had their volume dials turned to 11 ("these go to eleven..." - what can I say, I love Christopher Guest), Wilson was content and patient in his swing state. He actually had to be woken up for his feedings. Somehow, I never got to be the one to feed him until the very end of the day. His 5:30 feeding rolled around, and as luck would have it, I was the only teacher not occupied with another task. When I hunkered down with the half-conscious, little ball of a boy, I was met with the most pleasant surprise. His eyes- actually open for a change. Two bright blue orbs, shiny and sweet. They widened at the sight of another new person in his daycare life. Little did he or I know, the romance had begun. From the minute those round, innocent peepers fixed on me I was head over heels.

Over the next several months, my little pal brightened many exasperating days for me.  While strapping on my blue, paper shoe-booties (a sanitation rule so as not to track gunk into the room, lest a curious baby decide it was a culinary delight), Wilson's smile would radiate out the front door and put a skip in my step as I entered. Many mornings I would find myself getting lost in thought, only to have Wilson snap me into the here and now. He went through an exploratory phase with my shoelaces- untying them when my attention was elsewhere. And let me tell you, tripping over one's converse certainly has a jolting effect. I would stumble in befuddlement, look down, and meet the gleeful gaze of my little blueberry boy. This trick always sent him into a giggle fit of knee-weakening adorableness. It also served as a humbling reminder to Ms. Danielle not to take herself too seriously. Which is one of my favorite aspects about working with children; they require you to exist in the present-no excuses, no anxious head-trips, and no restless daydreaming will be tolerated. In addition to keeping me in the moment, Wilson also kept himself extremely focused on the business of growing up. He breezed past eating solids in the blink of an eye. Which made me very happy; mixing together gelatinous contents of tiny jars with powdery bland cereal into a sickly green paste, was not exactly appetizing. I always felt  I owed little Wilson an apology as I strapped on his bib in preparation for an undoubtedly disappointing dining experience. He had a lust for life, and food that just could not be satiated by pre-packaged goop. He would finish each feeding, covered in slop and hungry for something different, more exotic....and just plain more!

One of my favorite moments with Wilson came when he was finally able to eat real food. Particularly, swedish meatball day. Ahhhh, meatball day- it's tucked away so vividly and warmly in my mind. I trudged into the baby room with very little umph in my step- I had been having a lot of trouble sleeping, and it was starting to show. My lackluster mood was lifted at the sight of the school menu- today was meatball day, and my buddy Wilson was about to become a meat-baller. And boy was I right. That kid went to town. He made a mockery of those meatballs- there was nothing left within 20 minutes. The sight of his greasy, satisfied face- completely devoid of self-consciousness and doubt, as he took down the entire plate was nothing short of inspirational. Later that evening, when the weight of my world -and all it's irrational anxieties had caused my shoulders to slope, I discovered a constellation of gravy splotches on my sock. I giggled- even in absentia, Wilson was still instructing me to lighten up. I kept the sock. Wilson is now getting ready to move onto the next classroom. Sadly, this means we will be seeing much less of each other. But whenever Wilson and I share eye contact- I can see that glint in his eyes, and he certainly can see it in mine. He will forever be my blueberry boy, and I will forever be his magical, goddess and bringer of meatballs.