Patience

Had a hard time sleeping last night... but miraculously Charlie went back to sleep early this morning and I got to sort of sleep in.

I feel REALLY good today.

Bill posted a beautiful Steve Earle song this morning, called "Little Rock n' Roller" that brought tears to my eyes. Being the über emotional one in our relationship, I often mistake his lack of outward emotion for what must be going on inside him internally. Bill has spent a total of 14 (short) periods of time with Charlie in the 16 months he's been alive. This last time he left it was shortly before his first birthday and Charlie was a baby not even walking. Only to come home and find him a talking and walking toddler. We kid ourselves when we discuss his absence by saying that "If there is a part of their growing up that is the best to miss, it's the baby stage. Charlie won't remember it." But Bill, I know, won't ever forget not seeing any milestones and having to "get to know" his second son after this whole this is over. I think about what he is giving up for us and how much I truly love him and for one of the few times in life, words of that magnitude escape me.

I learned something about Billy this morning. He woke up and right away began today's existence defiant and stubborn. He wanted peanut butter and jelly for breakfast... and then after I told him he may NOT eat it anywhere but at the kitchen table... why then, he informs me he was "Just tricking me. He hates peanut butter and jelly." Which is so odd, since I am pretty sure that Billy's molecular makeup at this point consists of water, yogurt and PB&J. Every once in awhile he gets crazy eats something exotic like mac-n-cheese or a pork chop. Anyway, I let it be and told him basically that the sandwich was his for the remainder of the day until it was gone. This brought on the barrage of classic juvenile manipulation tactics, with well loved zingers such as, "I HATE you, Mom." and "You are NOT the best mom ever." As well as the best one for last: "If you don't let me eat in the living room I am gonna RUN AWAY."

I didn't react. I just let him stomp it out. After he was upstairs for about 5 minutes, I went up there as well. The little stinker was laying in my bed, so I climbed into bed with him. Interestingly enough, filled with hate and dreams of life as a 4 year old run away, he snuggled up to me. I asked him to tell me a story. The story was about a princess, a prince, a witch, a queen and a king. Apparently in that particular kingdom, the princess and the prince got married and kissed... and then they had the king and queen. Then the witch came along... and she covered them with slime and made them eat boogers. And gave them all allergies. To his credit, he did tell me originally what the witch did to them was a secret because it was gross. I am EVER so glad I insisted that he share.

After about 10 minutes of snuggle story time... he was fine. Came down, ate his PB&J at the table and has been... uhhh... let's go with "normal Billy" ever since. I must remember that my oldest child is a lot like his mother in that he requires physical touch, as well as verbal affirmation, to feel loved. And patience... lots and lots of patience. For our sakes, it's a good thing we have his father to give us both a lot of patience.