As a girl, with a mom of girls, I never truly “got” the Mama’s Boy thing. But it happened before he was born. I thought it was because he was my second born, the baby I could comprehend before I saw him, the kicking that I already understood deep inside my belly.
Now I know it was because of him. Who he is.
I have two children and I connected with them both. I understand my daughter from a “been there” perspective. I can read her and I remember what it was like being a four year old starting ballet. I understand when she just needs time without her younger sibling and I identify with some of her frustrations with school friends.
But my son? My son gets ME. My two year old will ask, “k? Mommy?” If I cough. He will come up and grab my leg on a difficult day and squeeze until my eyes fill with a different type of tear. He will pull his fingers through my hair absentmindedly as we watch Einsteins. He puts one hand on each of my cheeks to turn my head to him so he can kiss my lips goodnight.
His heart is as big as the sun and as warm. Most of the time, barring his two year old genetics, when I ask him to do something he will say, “OK, Mommy!” and he comes to get “screen on!” (Translation: Sunscreen) or “SHOES! ME DO IT!” or “HALP?”
He pats me on the back when he hugs me and his tiny hands make me forget what I was doing.
My son is growing up to be a man I will be proud of. He has his daddy’s compassion and logic. He’s all smiles and laughter and blocks and cars. He snuggles a blanket and a WWE figure at night.
He is boy. He is man. He is mine.
The day he meets a woman who he can care for, I will welcome her in to our lives. I will be happy for my son as he continues in to his own life, as he walks in to his own future. But I will tell her as they dance their first dance as husband and wife to be good to him.
I know he will be good to her.
It’s who he is.