I was saying to the Hubs the other day that I often think I am far too selfish to be a mother. I still want all my time to myself, I don't want to have to worry about what and when to feed somebody else, and I really like being able to read without little hands taking my book away.
But in the end, that's what Silly's early bedtime is for. Because I'm his mommy, and I'd better darn well live up to that. Sure, I have my moments when I feel my efforts to do so are completely inadequate, but then something happens that reaffirms that I'm not doing as badly as I frequently think I am. And it's usually something small, but it reminds me that I made the right decision to be a mom and it's worthwhile, enough so that I may one day overcome my self-centered tendencies.
This morning it was the simple act of him reaching out his hand to me to help him walk down the stairs. Taking his little hand in mine, knowing that he puts his trust in me to help him and keep him from falling as he takes on each step, I felt overwhelmed with peace and love for this chaotic child. Even though I make mistakes, he is forgiving (and forgetful) and still trusts me to take care of him and keep him safe. I almost started crying right there as we walked down the stairs and he jabbered on and on to me about who-knows-what.
And it's not as though this is a first-time occurrence! He's automatically reached out for me many times, and heaven knows I'm used to his incomprehensible jabber. This time just touched me and was a much-needed reminder that I'm this boy's mother, he needs me, and I love him. I may not always like him, but I do love him. So if he reaches his hand out to me, I'll take it.
Unless it's covered in peanut butter. Then I'll wipe it off first.
"Curse false-hand-holding boys!" -Lauren Myracle