A Bedtime Story

*sniff*

*sniff*  *sniff*

Allergies?  Ugh.  Why did I ever let the allergy medicine lapse?  I'm definitely getting the very clear message that was a big mistake.  Clearly, it's still needed.  Mommy guilt, it's like the tide of the ocean, it's high tide, it's low tide, but it's never ending, lapping at me constantly.

I get up out of bed.  It's late.  He should be long asleep right now.

It occurs to me that even though I can't give the usual med right now, I can give a 4 hour.  It might help.

I tiptoe in the room, carefully, in case against all odds he's really asleep.

I wait.  I start to leave, but then he makes a small noise, a whimper?

I go over.  Tears are flowing.

What's wrong??  I'm scared.

Of what??  Growing up.

*pause*  Why?

Because of my birthday.  I always feel like this around my birthday.

My mind's racing, trying to figure this out.  Trying not to blow it.  Instinctively I feel like this is a big deal, at least in this moment, at least to him.

I'm scared someone's going to take my animals, because I'm getting older.

I'm scared I'll have to give up my toys, my legos, now that I'm older.

Maybe I should feel relief, but I don't.  This is real, to him.  He's afraid of being rushed, pushed.  Of change.  Loss of control.

Aren't we all?

Frantically I think.  I try to find the right words.  I feel my way through.  Birthdays have been a double-edged sword for a few years now.  Clearly, it's not going away.  The tears flow faster now.  Harder.

I try to reassure.  That we'll never be the impetus to take the animals away, the toys.  That even if there comes a time he no longer wants them in his room that we can box them up, they'll still be his.

I try to talk about the positive things of growing up.  The silly way he plays with his daddy now.

I try to talk about how we chose not to have him start school at 5, with a summer birthday, even though he was obviously hideously bright because we wanted him to have the luxury of childhood, of time.

I try to talk about how much we love him and how we always will, and how we will do our best to support him and help him as he grows.

I talk about how he never has to leave toys behind.  His brother still loves Playmobil, video games.  It's okay.

I sit, we cuddle.  I rub his back and try to let him feel secure, relaxed, comforted.

I try.

I try to do all the right things, but as I leave him with a kiss, I'm sad.

I can't help but feel as though I've lied.

Because even though we will do our best not to push, not to let him feel pressured to grow up too soon, it's inevitable, isn't it?  Even if we aren't the ones doing the pushing, society will.

I wish I could wrap in a cocoon and keep him with me always, but it doesn't work that away.  I can only hope, and pray, that I as he grows I can be there to help him, to help make it all right.  To guide him into the amazing young man I know he's going to be.