My Son is a Meanie (But I Can't Let Go)

"Who loves you?"

I posed this question to my son yesterday morning.

 The Tine was playing with the baby in the bathroom, causing tiny convulsions of infant joy as Bady basked in the attention of his big brother.

 So when I asked, "Who loves you?" I was looking for "The baby."

 Instead he answers, "Pap!"

 "Yes, Pap loves you, but who else?"

 "Mmmmm... Grammy?"

"Grammy loves you too, but who else?"

"Daddy!"

"Okay, Daddy too.  Who else loves you?"

At this point I could care less if he says the baby, I just want to hear Mama from those sweet, little lips.

"Mmmmm... BABY!!!"

I'm starting to panic and completely dismiss this dose of brotherly affection.  I just keep thinking, "What's going on?  I'm never this far down on the list."

"Hey," I gently pry, "does Mommy love you?"

"Nope," he answers matter-of-factly, retrieving his trains and chugging carelessly down the hall.

My heart breaks and I spend the next twenty minutes following him around, practically shoving the words "Mommy loves me" down his throat while counting the moments of failure that led to this devastating decree.

 ~

I felt like the invisible mom all morning... trailing my kids like a pathetic, little puppy dog just teeming for a pat on the head.

Meanwhile, my in-laws were clearly the stars of the show, gaining goofy baby smiles and exhuberant toddler hugs with their unashamed doting and ceaseless attention.

At one point The Tine decided it was time to move out front.  My mother-in-law followed and I took up the rear.

As we traversed the breezeway, heading for the open door, my son abruptly turned, glared at me and yelled, "No, Mommy!" 

I held my head high and stated, "Mommy wants to come too."

But as I attempted to break through his little hand pushed firmly against my leg and he repeated (louder, of course), "No Mommy!"

Now I know I'm twenty years beyond elementary school and am in fact the mother of this pint-sized bully, but tears welled up in my eyes and I wanted to run home sobbing, "My son hurt my feelings!"

Instead I commenced the teacher's role, coolly stating the implications of pushing and generalizing that "it makes people feel sad."

It makes Mommy feel sad.

And I'd like you to stop.

~

I never thought I would look back fondly on the days where Separation Anxiety crippled our life.  When, in the rare occasions I could leave his side, my son's screams and sobs haunted my consciousness until the moment I walked through the door (and he leapt into my arms).

I laughed at people who told me that one day I would miss those middle-of-the-night feedings, where the fog of sleep blurred the edges between baby and mother, leaving a mass of grogginess, hunger, and deep, pure affection.

I counted with annoyance the strands of thin, blonde hair ripped from my head as he grasped for comfort in the familiar aroma of his Mommy's shampoo.

My baby is growing up.

Eventually, he allowed me out front and together we basked in the sun and each other's affection.

This evening, when his Daddy asked, "Who loves you?" he stated (without hesitation), "Mommy!"

I know these moments of defiance are dramatic shows of his budding independence.  And I realize that hours spent holding my son on the couch, chasing each other around the picnic table, and giggling in bed at night far outweigh mere minutes of thoughtless rejection.

Yet the fact remains that in two short years of motherhood I have lost certain, irreplacable connections with my baby.

Connections that I do, in fact, miss.

But every day I gain so much more. 

When The Tine was a baby I sacrificed my independence for his happiness.

Now I am learning to sacrifice my happiness for his independence.

I still miss the days where he seemed more like an extension of me than a little person of his own.

But I love even more the person he is becoming... his thoughtfulness, his passion, his joy and laughter and boundless energy...

... and the fact that when he crashes at night, after a day of chasing the elusive prize of independence, he does so in his Mommy's arms, with his head slumped into her chest and his hands tangled carelessly in the remaining wisps of her thin, blonde hair.