Iron Man, hero of the week.

By Stephanie Fox -

I have officially picked favourites. One of the groups that I follow named Winter has only two infants – a girl named Villain and a boy named Iron Man, each around 7 months old. Watching them is nothing but delightful as they mischievously bounce around and bounce around in all their goofy glory.  This week brought two stories about Iron Man.

The Fall. 
 Iron man fell from a tree 20 meters or so high, nearly on top of my head. Thankfully at the time I was looking up and saw him falling - as if in slow motion he was looking at me with his black cape floating out around him like a parachute. I stepped back just in time and he landed at my feet. I immediately backed far away expecting that the adults would come down from the tree, and indeed his mom, Isbjorn, rushed down to the ground. Iron man didn’t move, didn’t make a noise, and then slowly rolled onto his back. I thought he was dead and I very nearly burst into tears right there, my heart broken. His mom licked his face, and gently touched him. Minutes passed until finally he perked up a little bit, and I thought maybe only his back legs were broken. A few more minutes passed before Isbjorn scooped him up, and I could see that he clung to her with his arms and legs – and I was relieved to see that he wasn’t paralyzed at all. She carried him off the trail into the low brush at the side of the path, and then one branch at a time she slowly carried him up a small tree. To me surprise and great relief, the boy was up to as much trouble as ever within the hour with no evidence remaining of the dramatic morning.

The Map.
 On another afternoon watching Winter, Iron Man and Villain got up to their usual completely silly curiosities in some low bushes at the edge of the forest. Villain bounced around in the vines upside down and right side up, pulling on the tails of the juvenile mona monkeys. Iron Man found a chicken to chase (or clumsily hop after, rather), and the chicken fled toward the small stools we bring to the forest to rest on, where Andy was sitting. My map of the forest was stored on top of one of the stools at this moment, and apparently caught Iron Man’s eye because he promptly forgot all about the chicken in favour of the map. Hopping over to the map he first stared it down, then reached out his small hand and barely prodded the map, only to quickly retract his hand and bounce away - as if expecting that the map might be awoken from the curious prod and come chase after him. Back he came for round two, round three. Back to the chicken. Back to the map. Andy and I could not stop giggling.
Hours upon hours I watch these two small monkeys and never ever am I bored - I am only overwhelmed with awe for the completely pure and innocent splendor that I am so fortunate to witness.
The Map Grab 

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