Word of warning: this is a “dripping with sap” post. I haven’t had a good Hallmark moment for a day or two, so you’ll have to deal with it. My emotions are running amuck anyway due to mother nature’s bullshit tough love… so this is just phase one of the mood swing.
Most of you who read this blog know me personally — or you’ve just been faithful readers to my bullshit ranting & what I like to call dry wit (although you may beg to differ). So it goes without saying that you know all about Gabe. You’re also up-to-date on all the other goings on. Back in school, living with my best friend & her Abi, yadda yadda yadda. Most of my posts just skim the surface of my particularly boring existence & are filled with parenthesis (a terrible habit of mine (see??)). I rarely ever delve off into detail because:
A) …there are maybe ten of you who read this malarkey and it’s not like you won’t hear about it later, anyway.. and/or
B) …there are maybe ten of you who read this malarkey and you’ve all got lives to return to ASAP. Not like you won’t hear about it later, anyway.
But today I want to talk. You have been warned… reader, beware.
In case you didn’t know, I am completely smitten with the little minion that I gave birth to nearly three (!!!) years ago. I try not to be all sappy with him because I am a single momma to a little guy, and I”m trying my damnedest to toughen him up to ensure that he never changes his name to Gabriella Gingerpants (sorry.. it’s the best I could come with on the fly). But. Anyone who knowsanything about us knows that even in the midst of my cussin’ and fussin’ I adore that little hunk. I still hold him until he goes to bed — a habit I know I must break lest he start wearing cardigans and mandals (blah). But life is so hectic these days, and that’s our “us time,” so I really don’t feel so bad about it. Yet.
He’s a mess, that one. He is so improving in his speech and behavior (there are days I’d beg to differ… Cate, too, I’m sure… but really — it’s much improved). He’s becoming a little boy. My baby is becoming a boy. It still seems so strange… hard to wrap my head around. Sometimes I just wish I could keep him little. That the potty training, counting, and just… growing up… wasn’t actually real yet. Most days, though, I find myself so eager to see just what he’ll be. What he will make of himself. It’s a mixed up, mashed up feeling, really. ‘Cause while I am bubbling with excitement, I am also reeling in fright. He is finally becoming more independent… something that I have hoped for, for so long. And now that it is finally happening, I find myself wishing that he’d reach for my hand or hug my legs like he did a few months ago. He still does sometimes — when we’re somewhere brand new. But it occurs less and less. A good thing, I know. But mildly bitter all the same.
He fell asleep last night while we were watching TV and my mind took to flashback. I can still see him as a newborn.. just as vividly as I can see him now. And its eerie and pride-bearing all at once. Last night I saw him as this tiny thing when I was struggling with PPD. He slept so sweetly and so soundly — not knowing that the mother he curled in to was terrified of his touch. He just believed that he was loved. Looking back now, I believe it too. And I get to believe it everyday I hear him whine or laugh — frown or beam.
I am so thankful he exists. He is a big ol’ grouchy bear held in a popcorn laugh sunbeam; a riddle wrapped in an enigma. And quite frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.