He likes primary colors
but he knows when Mommy is dressed up pretty.

He smiles badly for pictures
unless he actually thinks something is funny
or is tickled and he’s in the mood for that.

He’s tough, and doesn’t mind bleeding a little bit
to do something he feels is important,
like practicing with his new skateboard
on the street, which is rougher than the tennis court.

He is four, almost five,
and when he is tired he needs his sleep,
but is sometimes too tired to fall asleep without the help that I give him,
rubbing and rocking, and something soft to hold or stroke,
to relax his mind—put him somewhere else,
outside the womb, but almost as safe, in the real world,
which he is learning about at a desperate rate.