My Darling, Darling Son

Today was yet another day of running the gamut of emotions. From joy to frustration to anger to sadness, then back to joy and a resulting guilt from the frustration I felt.

Ugh, it was exhausting!

Getting my little girl dressed in the morning is a pain in the rear region. She is a teeny tiny pill. Literally, she was rotating in my arms, struggling to free herself from her dress and tights. She pulled her shoes off three times, took out her hair bow four times, and pushed me away 23,543 times as I tried to get her ready for church. I was frustrated with a capital GRRRRRRR!

Alex was watching me, and said something that broke my heart into a million pieces.

"Mom, you were so much funner before the babies came. Now you're just tired and crabby all the time."

I stopped struggling with Brookie Bean, let her run free and toward the wipes box she was trying to get, and looked at Alex.

Truth is always found on the tongues of children. Was I a funner mom before the babies came? Yes, I know I'm tired and crabby quite a bit, but all the time?

I wanted to cry.

Back up two hours; While I was in the bathroom getting ready for church, I heard Alex struggling up the stairs and toward my bedroom.

"Hey, Mom! Brookie woke up.... and here she is!"

I dropped the mascara wand into the sink. He carried her all the way up the stairs!? Alex walked into the bathroom, holding Brooke under the shoulders, straining under the weight, but clearly taking his role as big brother seriously. I was worried about her being injured from this trek up a flight of stairs with a 4 year old, but she was clearly enjoying herself, a shriek of delight as she saw me. He put her down on the bathroom floor, and she clapped her hands.

All through church I kept thinking about what Alex said to me. I'm done being the tired crabby Mom. Do I really want him to remember me this way when he's older? Duh, no. Yes, my levels of fatigue are off any scale, and yes, I do get crabby when I'm needed 24/7, but we'll only pass this way once.

My darling, darling son. He's a crazy four year old, like any other. But those quiet moments we steal together, combined with his sense of responsibility for his siblings, make me want to be a better mom. For him.