We talked about it for a while. We introduced the idea to you and let you ask all the questions you needed to about it.
When you talked, we listened. When you pushed back, we held you. When you wanted to fight it, we supported you.
But it was time.
You were 3.5 years old. You had to let go.
I took you upstairs to your bed and we went through our routine. I tucked you in tightly with your Mickey Mouse and your taggies.
I looked down at your face and your tears started to pool at your eyelids.
“Please, Mommy. Please can I have my chumbutt?”
Your gentle pleads eventually turned into cries.
You didn’t understand. It was your security since you came home from the hospital well over 3 years ago.
To just a little boy you didn’t understand why Mommy wasn’t letting you have a piece of your safety.
Every cry, every wail, and every tear broke my heart just a bit more than the one before.
The panic set in and washed over your little body as your heart raced emphatically against your chest.
I laid in your bed with you as you clung tightly to my body.
Your tears continued to fall and in that moment I realized how small you really were.
Your insecurity in this big wide world was unmistakable.
I held you close and assured you that it was ok.
That I was proud of you for being such a big boy.
When all I wanted to do was keep you little forever.
I looked down at you as your eyelids fell heavy, finally giving in to the sleep I knew you needed.
You’re growing into a little boy, it’s apparent more and more with each passing day.
But in that moment, in that light, as you held me close, clinging to that security, it showed.
You’re still just a little boy.
Scared of the unfamiliar world around you. Searching for the security you so easily find in me.
Wanting to be held. To be safe. And loved.