Dear Connor,
I’m late in writing your entry this month because we’ve had a lot going on. You wouldn’t think that writing a blog entry has any bearing at all in the realm of parenting guilt, but a Mother’s guilt runs almost as deep as her love. You’ve been pretty grumpy the last month, a fault of mine because I’ve been tending to other things, like working and recovering from each and every virus that you bring to me from preschool.
You’ve decided that you don’t want to go to school, each time arguing with me that you won’t put your shoes on and that you won’t eat your breakfast because you do not under any circumstances want to go to school. I make you go anyway, because we all have to do things in life that we don’t want to do and the sooner you learn that the easier your life will be. There’s something that I want you to know and it’s this… life isn’t fair. In fact, it’s far from fair but facing it head on and making the best of it makes things a whole lot easier.
Part of the reason that you are so grumpy is because you’ve decided that you absolutely will not nap and although the books all say you should have grown out of naps a year ago, you are a kid that still needs mid-day sleep. I’ve succumbed to allowing you to hang in your room for quiet time, which usually isn’t as quiet as it should be, but gives you us some much needed time to rest. Today I went in to check on you, because your brother’s marathon screaming fit involving his refusal to nap was surely making you a little restless and found you laying on your back next to your bed on the floor. You were wearing 7 shirts and two pair of pants and lay with your arms thrown up over your head, sound asleep. At first my heart stopped because you so hate the nap that I thought some tragedy had befallen you, but then you snorted and started snoring softly and I knew it was safe to move you to the bed. I think probably because you had on 7 shirts that it made moving a little more awkward, thus proving my theory that if you’d just freaking be still, you’d pass out and get some rest. I know that you don’t want to miss any of the excitement that happens when you are in your room for quiet time, thus your constant insistence that you have quiet time downstairs, but personally if I had the choice between watching someone mop the kitchen floor and reorganize the pantry or napping, well I’d take the nap every time. Of course, given the choice between a whole lot of things and a nap, I’d probably take the nap, but that’s just me.
You’ll notice that there aren’t any pictures in this entry, but like your brother’s entry there are things that we will never see in a picture.
A picture will never be able to remind me how soft your baby skin or how you can still fit neatly in my lap when you curl up with your head on my shoulder. It won’t remind me of the little boy smell that you are starting to develop. When I walk into your room, it smells like you... a combination of baby lotion, baby skin and old socks. I’ll never hear from a picture how you say softly to me, “I love you, Mommy” and while that’s something that I could record and listen to over and over again, the recording wouldn’t capture the look in your eyes. The one that says you really mean it. That I am of the suns that you revolve around and that you don’t love me less because I haven’t showered in two days or worn make up in five.
A camera could never capture the wide fascination your eyes hold when you see something exciting and new for the first time. How you look at me with amazement and without speaking say, “Are YOU seeing this too Mommy?” And I am, but only because I’m looking through you. Thank you for making sure I remember that everything is amazing, even when it’s something as simple as a bar of glycerin soap with a plastic goldfish embedded inside. My love for you runs deep.
Love,
Mommy
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