Today is Wild Child’s 33rd birthday. My kids’ birthdays always bring memories of years when my life revolved around them. I’m not going to say that those days were all beautiful and precious. I adored my children, but they wore me to a frazzle, and I usually felt impatient, frustrated, and exhausted.
A few moments, though, were greeting card perfect. Today I’m recalling one such time.
Wild Child was three years old. I’d been away from home all day until shortly before bedtime. He was tired and needed his mommy, so I lay down with him. He turned on the radio and soft instrumental music filled the dark room. Fresh from his bath and wearing Pooh Bear pajamas, he snuggled up next to me. Little hands stroked and patted my arms. For half an hour we lay with our arms wrapped around each other—close, content, and quiet. Love for this small son overwhelmed me.
Later that night I tried to capture that experience in my journal. Here is an excerpt:
“My son, you are my ‘difficult’ child, sandwiched between two relatively content and less demanding siblings. You are the one who brings me the most confusion, the one who challenges me, the child who makes me murderously angry. And yet you are so vulnerable and precious. Will you ever comprehend the depth of my love for you? Will you remember these tender times when you’re grown?”
He’s grown now. He’s not a sentimental guy, but on this special day I hope he remembers some of those sweet moments and realizes how much he is loved.