The Colson Chronicles

"That baby is edible!"  - a frequent pronouncement by grocers, nurses, church ladies, me.   I wish I could feign bias.  But I can not.  Granted, there are some unsighlty babies on the nursery market these days. Can we all be honest about that? But Colson is not one of them. Truly, his enviable eyes and luxurious lashes and perfectly plump cheeks make him deliciously adorable.

 

And he's chubby in that edible way that only the very young can be- when chunky thighs are charming and dimpled cellulite is sweet.  His gaze - expressive and emotive and engaged- captures generations- my father and grandfather reflected in his beguiling eyes. His impossibly tiny mouth transforms into drooling grins which could garner a thousand deaths without reservation. He is that edible. The permissiveness of infancy- flailing fat arms for more food, loud grunts for grisly bowel movements, shrill screams of joyful satisfaction,  slobbering and sticky open-mouth smooches- indulges such indecorous behavior.

 
Of course, he is also impossible. Ridiculously good-looking people always are - possessing a fatal flaw- an Angelina defect to the their Brad Pitt.  Colson is no exception. Evasive with sleep. Intolerant of isolation. Persnickety palate. Car-ride resistant. Impossible. Then his face lights up and his arms raise-up and he struggles to stand up at the sight of me-just me. Which of courses wins him absolution for screaming nights and darkened diapers and gnawing days. Well played Colson, well played. You are so cute, I could practically eat you.