And he’s still a baby.
A baby that cries for no reason.
I’m sure he has reasons,
but the reasons are quite childish.
He cries because he’s hungry.
hungry for attention.
He cries when he doesn’t get what he wants.
He puts on a cute smile when everybody else is around,
but at home I know who he really is.
He’s a cry baby.
He bangs his head and cries like it’s someone else’s fault.
Like someone wronged him.
Why is there pain in this world?!
You did it yourself! Why you crying?
He loves leaving a mess.
My magazine is in pieces.
My mail is crumbled up.
He takes joy in disorganizing what took me a while to create.
He loves the food that I make him.
And the next day,
he hates it.
He wants something new.
What a baby.
How does a father put up with a baby like this.
And then I realize I’m exactly the same.
He’s only one.
I’ve been born again for many years.
And yet to my Father, I cry for no reason.
Well, for sure I have reasons.
But are they any less childish than my son’s?
Just like my son doesn’t understand my words at times,
I’m the same way to my Father.
But there is one thing all babies understand –
there’s nothing like being in his father’s arms.
So when I’m full of tears,
and crying over broken toys,
there’s no better place
than in my Father’s arms.