Isaiah's sick. Gave him "nighttime" cold Rx for kids, and I swear he fidgeted for 2 hours. Tapped the wall. bounced his foot. Scratched his ankle. He doesn't have restless leg syndrome, he has restless BODY syndrome. Hubs had put Vicks on him (do other races still use this stuff?? Or is it just us late ass Latinos?) and during his fidget fest, he rubbed some off his own chest, and rubbed it on mine. Rubbed it off from under his nose, and smeared it under mine. He said it was to make me feel better, too.
He finally, thankfully gave way to sleep and I just sat there and watched him. How could it be that this little person was a tiny baby not so long ago? How could he turn into a MAN, this boy who still sings to me while I tuck him in? *sigh* And don't get me started on Daimean, who is ten and has a whole life, it seems, that I'm not a part of. It's not that I don't want him to, because he has to, right? But it happened overnight, almost. One day we were the center of his universe, and the next he had friends and day camp and online video games.
My grandmother, who raised five children and had a hand in my own upbringing, often said that the best you can do for your kids is love them, love them, love them, and point them away from you so they can stand on their own two feet. Turns out that's a little harder than it sounds.