you are rightpublished: 2015-12-16
My little big boy, you sit on a stool, your back turned to my bedroom door. When I finally pull myself out of bed, it’s your shoulders I notice first. Compact little boys’ shoulders, bent forward, spine protruding through your T-shirt.
For a moment, I think you are playing something on the iPad. But it’s an unusual place for you to sit. As I walk towards you, I see that your chin rests in your two hands. You are angry.
“Oh no,” I say, “what happened?”
“I don’t like this, mama.”
You had tried to get me out of bed a few times, to get up, do stuff like make breakfast, play a game, go outside. But it’s been a busy week. I’m tired.
I sit down next to you and you aren’t planning to look at me so I talk to your cheek, “you’re right. This is no fun for you. No fun at all. It won’t happen again, I’m sorry sweetheart.”
Your expression changes instantly, you jump up and smile and immediately forget. Only because I said I am sorry, said you are right.
So simple and yet often so difficult.