It seems it's always a learning experience with my firstborn. Learning how to survive without sleep, how to change diapers in the dark, to eat dinner with one hand while standing up. And it's been about learning how to give up so much of myself.
The older he gets, the less it doesn't change. When he was a baby, it was about giving up the "me" time. The long showers. Reading before bed. Strolling through Barnes & Noble while sipping a peppermint mocha. Just being alone, period. But now that he's three and I'm looking back through my rose-colored glasses, I still had tons of "me" time. Really, I don't know what the hell I used to bitch about. He was the miracle baby who slept until nine or ten (AM!) regularly. He took three hour naps. He was in bed by seven. God, I had gobs of free time! I used to read the paper while sipping my coffee, wondering if I'd make it to playgroup in time! How spoiled was I?
Now I'm trying to deal with the constant shadow. The nonstop questions. The laying under me feet while I wash dishes. The playing with my hair while I talk on the phone. The sticking his fingers in my closed eyes at six-thirty in the morning. Compared to this, colic was a cakewalk. I struggle everyday to use my nice words. To not lash out. To count to ten and breathe, Lynda, breathe until you see spots in front of your eyes and you think you might pass out.
Tonight I nursed the baby to sleep while Carter poked my knees with some dead bug he found on the carpet. I leaned my head back and tried to go to my happy place, but it was nearly impossible to tune him out. I struggled with PJ time, teeth brushing, story time. It was nearly more than I could handle.
And then, just then, did he play his hand. He whispered, just as I was leaving his room, Do you know what, Mommy? I love you really much. I looked back to see my cheekbones and his daddy's dimples on his beautiful smile. It was all I needed.
It was all I needed to know that I am doing just right, no matter how crazy it feels sometimes. I am loved. And oh, so do I love him back.
No matter what time of the morning he sticks his fingers in my eyes.
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4 comments:
These are the moments that I remember when I think about yesterday, or last week... not the bad stuff. I constantly remind myself that my son's strong will and constant energy not only fuel the insane tantrums, but also make him laugh harder than I have ever heard a child laugh, and love deeper than I ever thought a 3 year old heart could love.
Isn't it amazing how those little moments can make your day?! I've been having a whole week like this!
I love this post! I also have a 3 year old (and 22 month old) and really relate to what you are going through.
It's funny how now you can look back to a few years ago and think of them as the "good old days"...give it a few more years and we'll probably be doing the same thing about now...
Enjoyed reading your blog!
this kinda made me tear up. I totally feel this lately- more so now that Ive been playing the role of a "single mom" since my husband has been working out of state for nearly 3 weeks! My patience runs so thin at times that I am just about to explode and my 4 year old (right at the perfect moment- as if he knows Im about to lose it) says "mommy, youre my favrotie mom" or some other sweet nothing....
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