He was loving me anyway.

I cannot remember the last time I wrote about my kids, but I’ve got some stuff bubbling up that’s too long for Instagram. So I’m going mommy-blogger here for a few posts…

I constantly feel like I’m keeping my baby boy at arm’s length. Feel free to psychoanalyze me. Maybe it’s because his tastes are different from mine, even at this young of an age. I often think to myself, I hope he turns out cool. Why is he laughing at that? Maybe it’s because his birth and infancy were hard for me. I spent a lot of hours staring at him instead of holding him, trying to figure out how to get him to fall in love with me. Maybe it’s some sort of buried guilt that he’s about to start kindergarten and I never stayed home full-time with him as a baby, though I think we all know how well that would’ve turned out. Maybe it’s razor-sharp memory, the one that allows him to describe the outfit he was wearing the day I missed an event at preschool.

Whatever it is, I put it in my head that it’s caused a rift. I constantly feel like I’m keeping my baby boy at arm’s length. And I don’t want that. I’m crazy about him, and I want him to feel it. I want him to like me. I want him to look at me and feel joy. I want him to forget about all of the times I’ve let him down and hurt him. I want him to give me grace. I want him to believe the best in me. Wait a minute, do I want my son to act like Jesus?

Last night, I took my boy on a date and I actually felt nervous at times. It’s been a few months since we were alone like that, and I didn’t know what to expect from this kid who’s getting older by the second. Would he hold my hand? Would he enjoy our time together? The answer is yes, to all of those things. At one point, he wrapped both arms around both of my legs and I felt all of that weird stuff just melt away. It hit me as he sat on my lap at one stop, letting me scratch his back. He was loving me anyway. All of this time.

He does like me. He does look at me and feel joy. He might remember all of the times I’ve let him down, but he gives me grace. He believes the best in me. He acts like Jesus. And as if to answer my thoughts, two different times throughout the night I heard him say, “Momma? You’re the best momma I ever had.”

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