Heroine

This morning I was hanging out in Cai's room having a tea party, eating pretend watermelon, hotdogs and chips and real lemon poppyseed muffins. Normally, I try to be the kind of mom who let's her children be independent, only showing up when I'm really needed. I can't really decide if this is true instinct, or if the real instinct is the impulses I squash - the ones that make me want to cry out and run to them everytime they stumble, the ones that will make me want to help them tie their shoes when they are 10 and hold their hands across the street when they are 15.

Anyway, I was squashing impulses this morning. Allowing Cai to pick up his own Cheerios when they spilled - this is a normal squash for me. But for some reason it was a muffin that got me today.

My boy picked up his muffin, baked full in a Halloween paper cup and I stopped myself before I offered to peel it away for him. I squashed this urge just as he carefully slid his finger nail under the rim of the paper and gracefully peeled it perfectly away from the muffin. He then handed me the paper and smiled shyly as I commented on how grown up he was, and literally choked back a small sob that made my chest feel like it was going to explode.

Motherhood is such a strange and complex animal. You are given this little being who you fall madly, crazily in love with, and at first, they feel the same way about you. And as time passes, your crazy love just grows, but theirs diminishes. Little by little everyday they grow, and they need you a little bit less, love you a bit more casually. I know my children will always love me, but they are a little like heroin. You get that first hit and it's so intoxicating you give up your life to recreate it, but it's never quite the same again. It changes, even if you don't. Still, I'm a lifelong junkie. Going to take a couple hits right now. Tea party, anyone?