There was a lot of whining at bedtime tonight. That’s not unusual in this house, for either Baby Bee or me, but it just seemed excessive and pointless. I mean…c’mon boy I know you can pull a shirt over your head. It’s not quantam physics here.
So finally when jammies were on (backwards but that’s not a battle worth fighting tonight), teeth brushed, and we were climbing in bed for story time, I started in on the mom lecture. The “you’re too old to whine like that etc etc etc” schpiel. Literally mid sentence I look over at that little IMP and he’s grinning at me sideways. Then he leans over and plants a kiss.
Oh you little Charmer.
I started laughing and pulled him to me and squeezed hard. With my nose buried in his neck I smelled sunscreen and sweat (no he didn’t bathe tonight ok?!) and little boy love and it just washed over me like a tsunami. My love exploded out of me and I started crying just a wee bit.
Too much. He is too much for me. The love I feel for that wild thing is too much. The worry and the hopes and the deep seated fears are too much. The awe and the pride and the joy are too much. The frustration and the exhaustion are too much. I am not worthy of being his momma. I’m too impatient and selfish and high strung to be given this wildfire of a child.
And yet he was given to me and is in my care. It’s a terrifyingly wonderful, rewarding gift. I just hope I don’t fail him.