And They Said Being a Child was Tough
"Mom?"
There, in the barely visible crack in our bedroom door is my son. Tears streaming from his face, whispering to me. He'd fallen asleep on the way home from an eye appointment. I did what I've always done--since his birth--carried his 40-some pound 6-year-old frame to our bedroom and shut the door. Now it was 2 hours later, and for some reason, he awoke crying.
"What's wrong Bud?"
"I want... I want," he wiped tears from his eyes, "I just want to go to my room."
"Okay. Go ahead."
He trotted past me head down into the other hallway, to his room.
"Buddy?" He turned, face now red and more tears, "You're not in trouble for anything." He nodded his head. "You okay?"
"Just want to go to my room." And off he went. Alone. To his room. And I felt like a failure at something, I just didn't know what. I mean, what went wrong?
Today was a good day... school was good, he was happy, laughing, even helped out while I got my own eye exam. But crying?
I could only wait 2 minutes and I lifted myself to face my crying son. Which, I might add, breaks my heart every damn time I see it. This time, I peeked through the barely visible crack in his bedroom door and peered in.
"Can I come in?"
One more nod as he cocooned further under his covers and sniffled.
I'd like to share that we had a pleasant conversation and I learned what was bothering him so much. But instead, the only answer that he could verbalize was something about feeling lonely and wanting only to go to his room. So, I did what every mother does... kissed his forehead and gave him an all inclusive hug. The type that make you remember why you wanted to become a mom in the first place. Then, I kissed him again and said, "I love you. Remember, if you ever want to talk, Mom'll be here."
The hardest part? Turning and leaving the room.
He's growing up already and he's not even 6.
There, in the barely visible crack in our bedroom door is my son. Tears streaming from his face, whispering to me. He'd fallen asleep on the way home from an eye appointment. I did what I've always done--since his birth--carried his 40-some pound 6-year-old frame to our bedroom and shut the door. Now it was 2 hours later, and for some reason, he awoke crying.
"What's wrong Bud?"
"I want... I want," he wiped tears from his eyes, "I just want to go to my room."
"Okay. Go ahead."
He trotted past me head down into the other hallway, to his room.
"Buddy?" He turned, face now red and more tears, "You're not in trouble for anything." He nodded his head. "You okay?"
"Just want to go to my room." And off he went. Alone. To his room. And I felt like a failure at something, I just didn't know what. I mean, what went wrong?
Today was a good day... school was good, he was happy, laughing, even helped out while I got my own eye exam. But crying?
I could only wait 2 minutes and I lifted myself to face my crying son. Which, I might add, breaks my heart every damn time I see it. This time, I peeked through the barely visible crack in his bedroom door and peered in.
"Can I come in?"
One more nod as he cocooned further under his covers and sniffled.
I'd like to share that we had a pleasant conversation and I learned what was bothering him so much. But instead, the only answer that he could verbalize was something about feeling lonely and wanting only to go to his room. So, I did what every mother does... kissed his forehead and gave him an all inclusive hug. The type that make you remember why you wanted to become a mom in the first place. Then, I kissed him again and said, "I love you. Remember, if you ever want to talk, Mom'll be here."
The hardest part? Turning and leaving the room.
He's growing up already and he's not even 6.
Labels: motherhood, parenting, The Kiddo
