Very early in the morning, Fisher comes out of his room to snuggle with Daddy. He brings his blue-and-white small blanket and his black blanket, like always. After a bit, Daddy carries him, bundled like a baby in his blankets, in to the big bed to snuggle with Papa.
P: Come here, Fisher. Do you want some morning loves?
F: Uh huh.
Daddy sets the bundle on the bed next to Papa.
P (early morning, snuggle voice): Ah, Fisher, remember when you were a little baby, and you were so cute and tiny all bundled up in your blankets, and…
F (approximating Papa’s early morning, snuggle voice): …and you put me in that jar?
Full stop. Daddy and Papa bust out laughing.
Now, Fisher was a pretty small baby, 4.5 pounds at birth. And, although he would certainly have fit in many a vase, there are few jars that could ever have accommodated him, even as tiny as he was, and certainly Papa would never have placed him, gently and comfortably, in any such vase, you know, to demonstrate how small he was, in good fun, pure comedy, you see, whacky-whacky. Anne Geddes aside, who puts in a newborn in a *jar*? Fisher couldn’t possibly remember anything *real* from those early days anyway. A simple explanation for his oddball statement might have been that years after the fact, he had seen photographic evidence of a “jar-putting.” But, since nothing like that would ever have happened, no such photographic evidence could possibly exist. Daddy and Papa aren’t even the type of guys to own one or two or twenty vases.
But, Fisher having such a vivid image in his head, Daddy works with him to capture the misplaced memory in mosaic. You know, get it out. Down on “canvas.” Since no actual picture of the fictional event exists. Now, don’t call it therapy. No, call it art. Pure throwback Thursday fiction, as it were…