Peter reported this pre-bedtime conversation with Henry last night:
Henry: Mama kisses me all the time.
Peter: Do you like it?
Henry: Yes. You don't kiss me.
Peter: Would you like me to kiss you?
Henry. No. You're not a kisser.
I was quite startled by this exchange. He has thoughts about my kissing him? He recognizes that I am a kisser and Peter isn't? It's so easy for us to think that we know everything about Henry, having known him from the moment he took his first breath, while he doesn't know much about anything. But suddenly I am forced to recognize that in fact there are important ways in which the opposite is true. He already evinces the intense privacy of a child about his inmost thoughts, and who he will be is a mystery to us. Meanwhile, he is busily watching us and drawing his own conclusions, with a completely innocent ruthlessness: He will soften nothing, excuse nothing, judge nothing. He just sees what he sees. Very scary.
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