"Mommy, do you wish you were somewhere quiet and peaceful?"
Sometimes I do, buddy. But there isn't really a quiet, peaceful place in my spirit sometimes. I carry noise and mess with me.
I look at his freckles, so heartbreakingly countless. The careful lines of his forehead and the parentheses of his smile. In pictures of him, I see who he has been and who he will be. But when he looks at me, I see only him.
His little legs are dotted with torturous bug bites. 27, we counted.
He puckers his lips to kiss me, wanting my lip gloss to smooth over his own lips. He thinks there's something glamorous about wearing my color on him, as if anyone thinks this was an intentional choice his mother made.
And then he's up and running, just like that, shrieking like a Gremlin.
This little boy. I couldn't possibly love him more. But somehow, I will.
A parent's kiss will forever mean more than the parent remembers. I only know so because I have yet to indulge in the parental experience, but schmeer the lipstick as you please as long as you can; it is a type of "cool" unique to a child who will wear it with hidden pride.
You absolutely will! My sons are 40 and 38. I love them more everyday. They continue to bless me. Sweet, kind, responsible, God-loving men. What mom could ask for more?