Between all the stubborn screaming and the tantrum throwing, I get glimpses of my REAL son. I imagine the teenage years will be something like this -a shroud of hormones cloaking my REAL child. I’ll burst through that shroud now and then, I know. That’s what will keep me holding on. Of course, I could be wrong. The teenage years could be a breeze. Of course, I could be right. Only time will tell.
For now, I’m going to soak up every gosh darn minute of his “real” self. Even if it crawls out of bed and onto me around midnight while I make roses out of pages from a dictionary.
Moments like that energize me -recharge me. Today will be better because of it. It’s given me the push I needed to step out of my Overwrought Mommy Cloak and let my kids see the real me.
Here’s to a day of eating hot dogs, playing on the floor, and singing the chorus to Banana Phone over and over because we can’t always remember all the lyrics.
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