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?”