My son has always been a cuddler. Really, since he was born, he loved being held and squeezed a bit and smooched on. It’s one of the big reasons we ended up bed-sharing, but that’s a different post.
This is us, three years ago, cuddling at the play museum.
It’s been on my mind lately that he’s getting to be such a big boy. Kindergarten graduation is tomorrow. He’s making friends with new kids – new kids whose parents I don’t know, instead of just my best friends’ kids. I don’t mean to put him into this little gender box, but I think I’ve been reacting to some of the things he does and things he needs from me and thinking that somehow he’s not where he’s supposed to be. Somehow, this pressure for where to keep your kids and how to treat them has crept it’s way into my thinking. I realized I was being a bit harsh with him last week, and made a decision to not be that way.
Which brings me to this morning. There was no kid’s class at church this morning, and so we found our seats in the sanctuary. The service has a few songs, a few listening portions, and a meditation too. He sits in his chair. He sits in my lap. He flutters the pages of his hymnal. He sits in his chair. He hangs off of my lap. He sits in his chair and rests his head on my arm. He asks to go home. He rests his head on my shoulder. He asks to go home again. I’m trying to meet his needs and pay attention to the service, and whisper quietly that he is six and totally capable of this and to please hold it together. He climbs back on my lap and wraps his hands about my neck and entwines his fingers into my curls. I smooch his fuzzy head.
The end of the service comes and as we’re getting up to leave a man approaches. He says this is coming from way out there but he was sitting several rows behind us and he just had to comment on how wonderful it was to see the intimacy and love between us. I almost cried right there. It was so nice to hear that this closeness that we have, this closeness that I know is sure to change over the next few years, was appreciated. I don’t need to rush him away from me, and so long as he’s okay with it, I will continue to smooch his fuzzy little head, wherever we may be.
During the service we were asked to think of things we were grateful for, and of course, he is at the top of my list. I’ve always said that hands were meant to be held, because they fit together so nicely.