Wally made a map of space this morning, our galaxy. In an act of defiance, he includes Pluto. He wants to go to the moon some day, like many kids must, or so I would imagine. Perhaps I've been too serious and realistic in describing the life of an astronaut. Wally's hope is that he can be astronaut for a day, which sounds like maybe a rather uninspired emo band name.
This morning as I made a sandwich for Wally's lunch (without really being able to see what I was doing over the baby in the carrier) he brought it up again. I told him it's not really a job you can do for just one day.
"Why not?" he asked.
"First of all, I don't think you'd even get there in one day, would you?"
"Plus there's a lot of training involved," I said, feeling impatient, flexing my shoulders against the strain of the baby's weight.
"What do you have to do?" he said, reaching for a piece of the sandwich so he could eat it right then, a weird habit I've somehow allowed him to slip into. Since I had the baby, I notice there are many of these.
"Well you have to learn how to survive without gravity," I answered, searching around for his lunch box. "And we're pretty used to gravity by now. Plus I think you might have to even be a pilot first or something."
I didn't mean to discourage him. He has so many plans -- he wants to have a princess hair-styling boutique. He wants to open Wally's Healthy Bakery where he'll make banana coconut oatmeal bars. He also wants to get his stories on to Nick Jr. Maybe the temporary astronaut idea is just another half-fantasy he should be allowed to revel in. Or maybe I'll be proven wrong. Maybe by the time he's old enough for a lunar visit, hopping up there for an hour or two won't be any big deal.
The baby's only 9 pounds but feels so heavy in this carrier. Maybe I'm not so used to gravity.