Monday, December 7, 2015
Not very often, but there are times, when Caedmon is over-tired or coming down with an illness, when he will become extremely stubborn and oppositional and he will flail around so much and take swings at anyone near him that I will have to gently restrain him or he will hurt himself or someone else. And he will cry and sob while trying to hit or kick me. And he will scream at me to let him go. And I have to tell him that I will hold him until he feels safe again. And sometimes I have to wait for what seems like a very long time for that to happen.
These are the times I don't like being a mom much. I don't like conflict. I don't like confrontation. I don't like holding back my child. I don't like that he has these moments.
Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I'm just as angry as him. Usually I am tired too.
And then most of the storm passes, and I can let go of him and he'll let me smooth his hair or massage his arm or put my cheek next to his as his sobs slowly fade. And through the ebbing I pray in my own head. That I would have wisdom. That I can be calm. That I can show him love before he falls asleep. That he would have peace. That he would know he is loved. That I would stop making so many mistakes.
And then he asks me to cuddle with him, usually a little longer than on a normal night. And sometimes I don't want to stay longer but I do because it's not time to leave yet. The storm has not quite gone away. And as I lie next to him I feel his breathing slow, I feel his body relax, I see his eyes close. And as I get up to leave, he opens his eyes, lifts his arms and gives me a tight hug.
I love that part.
And I love how it reminds me of my Father who holds me through some pretty amazing temper tantrums, even at my old age. A Father who doesn't walk out when the going gets tough. Who waits out the storm with me. Who holds my hand and smooths my hair. And waits.