Dear Banner,
I just left your bedroom after a really good cuddle. The kind of cuddle that we just don't have as much as I'd like. The kind of cuddle that made me savor every moment, that made it impossible to pry myself out of your snoozing embrace to leave your room. The kind of cuddle that, before you fell asleep in my arms, made me tear up and shed a few tears because it was the kind of cuddle that reminded me of how I would cry happy tears when you were just a baby or a toddler. It was the kind of cuddle where my chin rested on the top of you head and our arms intertwined. The kind of cuddle that I could tell you were asleep by the slight jerks of your small body and the tightening of your hands - the same way I would know you were asleep as a baby.
When Dad walked in your room, we were both quiet. He said, "Is everything okay in here?" as he walked over to the other side of the bed to tuck you in. We said yes and that we were just cuddling. He asked if he could join us, and we welcomed him. I told him we were having the kind of cuddle that makes my eyes water. You asked me if I was okay. I said I was great, that sometimes I cry when I'm really happy, and that this is the kind of cuddle that makes that happen. I said to ask Daddy how many nights did I used to come out of your room the first two years of your life crying tears of joy and love. Dad said, "There isn't a number high enough." I said I just loved cuddling you and holding you and rocking you. You said, "And you have a mama's warmth." I just smiled and reveled in the fact that you feel that. I want you to feel that so badly. I want you to know how loved you are, how amazing I think you are, and sometimes I just wonder if you do.
As my firstborn, I never know if what I'm doing is right. You're the boy I sometimes just can't figure out because you have so many unique characteristics. You're anxious, but you're confident. You're emotional, but you often don't care. You're distracted, but then you hear everything. You're inattentive, but then you are hyper-focused. You're selfish, but then you have the most caring manners and interest in others. You are terrified, but then you're brave and daring. You're wise beyond your years, but then you're innocent and naive. You want to be so much older than you are, but then you want us to do everything for you. You are an enigma, but then I know every detail about you. And so often, you're distant and unattached, and then like tonight, you're cuddly and affectionate and connected.
When you felt my wet cheeks, you said, "Are you going to post about this on Facebook?" I giggled and said, "Do you want me to?" You said, "I donno. I guess so. Are you going to tell Grandma about it?" I said. "I don't know. Do you want me to?" You said, "Sure." And I thought about how this moment is just so powerful, so personal, so special. Yes, it's one of those moments I usually post about, because I want it to pop up in my memories years from now and bring me right back to this very moment. But, this moment warranted more than a Facebook post, it needed a blog entry. I wanted to capture it in detail.
Uncle Brock and I had an interesting conversation about you the other day. I mentioned that I'm worried about how you sometimes have OCD tendencies and some characteristics of hoarding. I said it's hard for you to throw away old shoes or old toys you never play with anymore; you get upset when we sell or donate our old furniture or other household items; you ask the teacher for the posters or the chart paper your class is done with and bring it home; you don't want to get rid of old calendars, old homework assignments, or workbooks. Uncle Brock said, "Maybe he gets some of that from you; you're always writing everything down and documenting everything." I hadn't thought about that, but he's right. I hoard memories. In my defense, I told him I have explained to you that I'm documenting your childhood FOR you, so you don't have to keep those torn up shoes, you don't have to hold on to clothes that don't fit, you don't have to have the physical things - we can take a photo and move on, make space for new things in our lives. We can remember those things, keep it locked in our memories, so our physical space is ready for new things and to create new memories.
So, tonight, I'm making a mental note, writing that story out for you and for me. I wish I could bottle that cuddle. Time is passing so fast; you are getting older and bigger and will distance yourself from me before I know it. . . sometimes you already do. But, I hope that "mama warmth" is always there for you. I hope we can always cuddle whenever you want, whenever we need. And when there's a day we can no longer cuddle, I hope you remember these kinds of cuddles - the kind of cuddle that you can still feel even when it has ended. The kind of cuddle that lets you know I love you - love you so much it pours out of my eyes and down my cheeks. The kind of cuddle that lets you know you're one of the most special things to me in the entire world. The kind of cuddle that reminds both of us no matter how much we annoy or irritate or frustrate each other, we are both doing something right to be lucky enough to have this much love for each other. The kind of love that reminds you and me both that our love can fix all the hurt, all the questions, all the puzzles. The kind of cuddle that reminds us you are always my baby.
I love you so much Angel Baby,
Love,
Mommy
