Sully woke me in the night. A gentle tap tap tap on the sliver of my head that wasn't hidden beneath the covers. I heard his feet bound lightly down the hallway before he even reached me; I always hear them coming in the night. He climbed up and slid right into the curve of my belly, dug his icy toes into my legs. Right there in the middle of the night I felt all at once completely maternal and lovely. Once, before I had little ones, I dreamed about being a mother. I saw myself from behind, walking through a verdant park canopied by exquisite ancient trees hand-in-hand with a little one with short hair. That was the only vision of myself as a mother I ever had. A dream that became a prodigious prayer, answered.
I was so mad at Theo yesterday. What happened doesn't even matter now, but in the moment I spoke my words to him with a venomous hiss followed by a thunderstorm of guilt. Sometimes parenting boys shakes me to the core. There is something about them, an energy, I don't understand. I don't know if they hear me. Even worse is not knowing if they care. This brings me to my knees at times. Last night, after the fact, I curled up with him in my arms. As gently as a mama does, I pushed his hair back and into his ear I whispered, "You are a lovely, wonderful boy and I love you so much." That is all that matters.