The Ceiling Fan And Other Things Grown Folks Forget To Enjoy

Have you ever seen a baby discover a ceiling fan for the first time? I don’t know what it is, but it’s like every dang thing a baby sees becomes the most wonderful thing in the world.

I remember the first time my Elli noticed the fan in our living room. To be honest, there’s nothing special about it. It’s black, modern, and moves pretty slow even on the highest setting. I’ve always considered it to be underwhelming.

One Saturday, I was in the kitchen prepping dinner. As all parents know, if it gets a little too quiet, that’s your sign to check in. I peered over the counter to get a better view of Elli in her bouncer. There she was with her head tilted back, eyes wide with amazement, mouth open, drool dripping down her neck … absolutely mesmerized by the ceiling fan despite the montage of toys dangling in front of her.

“Elli?” I called, trying to get her attention. Nothing. I tried again. And again. Finally, I set down the knife I was using to chop onions, rinsed my hands, and walked over to her. She tore her eyes from the fan just long enough to glance at me. The moment I asked, “What are you doing?” she broke into the biggest grin, giggling and cooing as if to say,

Momma, has this been up here the whole time?!

I stood there with my hands on my hips, half confused and half entertained. Out of all the things in the room, this boring ceiling fan was what had her cracking up? I tilted my head back, trying to see what she saw. And after a few seconds of staring, I saw… a ceiling fan. The same dull, slow-moving fan I usually forgot was even there.

But it got me thinking. What am I overlooking? When did I lose the ability to find amusement in the ordinary?

The joy of having a baby, at least for me, is rediscovering the everyday . The objects, the routines, the little things I’ve grown so used to that I stopped noticing them altogether. There I was, still squinting at that ceiling fan like maybe it would reveal some hidden secret. Spoiler: it didn’t. To me, it was just as boring as ever. But to Elli, it was everything . It was moving, spinning, existing, and worthy of her full attention.

She glanced back at me with that big grin, like she was encouraging me to admit that I had been missing out on the fun all this time. And maybe she was right. Maybe I’ve been rushing past too much, treating many corners of my life like background noise.

Elli hasn’t learned how to do that yet. She still meets the world as if it’s brand new, like even the most ordinary things deserve wonder. And standing there with her, I realized the lesson wasn’t to figure out what she saw . It was to remember how to keep looking. Because joy doesn’t always show up in fireworks or milestones. Sometimes it’s just a ceiling fan, humming quietly above your head, waiting to be noticed again.

⸻

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, let me know. If you didn’t… let me know that too. Until next time! (: