futility

i have the lights on brightly, my son in his high chair right in the doorway of the kitchen where he can watch everything. a turkey-bolognese sauce bubbling on the back burner, fusilli-with-flax and multi-grain alphabet pasta boiling under frothy white surfaces in their respective pans on the front burners. i have "the best of cat stevens" thrumming and soaring from the living room CD player. upbeat, hopeful, "moonshadow", then "peace train". i sing the songs using a pastry brush as a microphone, dancing in the tiny kitchen making smiles and giggles blossom on musa's dear little face. i start to sway side to side with him as he "dances" in the high chair.

how many ways are there to chase off loneliness?

...

later: and why does it hurt so to watch musa tonight, as he slides off my lap after nursing, watching his reflection in the dark window, squatting down to play with his drum, looking at the window again and smiling? why is it so melancholy to realize his world is so small, this is it - me, the living room - and he does not feel the loneliness of it, only the comfort and security?
oh lordy, he's started throwing things...