Remembering Gifts

We were walking around the neighborhood, holding hands. Kiddo had been telling me stories in toddler gibberish, which slowly trailed off. It was quiet. No one was around. The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees.

"Do you see the pretty flowers?" He looks. "And hear the wind through the leaves? How wonderful is that?!"
Then, he looks up at me, and gives me a beaming smile of such delight in that moment, my heart completely melts. Just thinking about it makes my eyes water.

Kiddo is a gift. This is the thing I have to remember always.

In some ways, my time that I've had as a stay-at-home parent has been stressful. It has been stressful to not contribute to our family coffers directly. It has been stressful to be isolated, both by being a SAHM, as well as through my writing. Neither one of these occupations screams "social." It has been stressful to try to manage those two occupations, which frequently conflict with one another.

How many times has Kiddo come to my arm, as I'm sitting at the computer, and pulled on my sleeve? How many times have I had to shrug him off because I had to get something done that day in order to feel like I was progressing?

I can't count. I don't know. It's too much. It's too many. It makes me feel a little ashamed to admit it in this public way.

Because there are warring priorities. And there is only one resource. Time. There is never enough time. There is only so much time. How is one considered wealthy? By their use of time.

I made a promise to myself. I would write - or at least, work on whatever it was that needed work that day - in the morning. And this work continues through nap time. After nap time, I try to devote my afternoon to Kiddo. Completely.

And sometimes that is hard. Sometimes it is really hard. I get bored doing toddler things (although that is growing less so) and will often catch myself flicking through something on my phone. Sometimes I get really irritated - truly stuck on a bit of formatting or marketing. Eventually I recognize it would be better for everyone if I paid exclusive attention to Kiddo, and I come around. And that is good. Everyone ends up happier.

And I love being a writer. I do. I love doing it and focusing on it completely. And I love being a mom. I do. I love doing it and focusing on Kiddo completely. Trying to do both at once however, is an abysmal failure.

So I try to separate them. This allows me to spend time doing the thing I feel called to do, the thing I must to stay sane, as well as spend time with the little boy I love, my son. It's the closest to a win-win I can get.

And times like this, make me think about how I allocate my precious resource. They make me wonder about what I am willing to give up, and what I cannot live without. They make me question what kind of memories I want to have. When I look back at my life, what story will be there? What will I have accomplished? What relationships will I have built? What kind of a person will I have been?

Part of the answer is my writing. But a bigger part of that answer is the relationship I want with Kiddo. I want to experience him fully. I'm still not sure I want a second kid, and I will only have one chance with Kiddo. He is one person - my precious little boy. The child who makes emotional and abstract connections constantly, who sings and dances, and whose smile lights up even my darkest moments, that is a person I always want with me. That is a person I want to make and share memories with, always. And every single moment - the wild energy bursts, the silly expressions, and the intense tantrums - all of that is a gift I have been given.

There are not words to express my gratitude for my time with Kiddo. Parents understand this feeling - it is unique to the parenting experience. I have never felt it to this depth as I do with Kiddo. Of course, I am grateful for all the wonderful people I've had the pleasure to meet, who have been in my life at one time or another. Of course I love my close friends, my parents, my husband. Of course. And they are each gifts.

But they are not Kiddo.

Earlier in the day, Kiddo was taking a nap. I was exhausted. I was cranky. He fell asleep in the car, and I couldn't move him because moving him wakes him. So I stayed in the car, and dozed myself. When he woke up, I carried up the stairs into a sitting area and we nursed. Of course, the couch was in the sun. Of course, he fell asleep on my lap. Of course I was extraordinarily thirsty.

I got so irritated, I set him down. I couldn't handle the heat any more. I got a glass of water. He woke up. He sat up. He said a few gibberish words.

I sat down.

Then, for some reason, I look across the room and our eyes meet. Kiddo's face cracks into a huge smile - that beaming perfect smile that reflects all his joy and love and light in a single look, and I remember.