It’s amazing how a not-quite-five year old can be so very adult and matter of fact about things. He wants to ride his tricycle, but I’m nursing baby I. “Well, mama says she can get my bike helmet after she’s done nursing the baby. That’s fine!”
Later, he races his trike up and down our driveway without help. “Hoooonk!!!” He shouts, then turns to see me typing this post and follows with, “Oh, sorry for disturbing your work, mama.”
So independent, but he still needs so much. He will still burst into tears easily when he’s hungry or tired. He still needs hugs and kisses when he gets hurt. He still wants me to lay with him in bed when I tuck him in at night.
This boy, who made me a mother, is so grown up, and yet still my baby.
He’s taught me to struggle and to want to be better. Every day I second guess something I say or do with him. Somehow, the right way of raising children- and those obvious solutions to the wrong ways- can be rather elusive. This parenting thing was a lot more straight-forward before I had kids, but he’s working on me a little at a time. 😉
My J has introduced us to a long journey of trial by fire. But maybe it’s also a path of sanctification that we are meant to walk together.
He’s taught me to love fiercely. He’s also made me realize how very vulnerable we are, how transient our lives are.
He humbles me.