Mommy has been fighting a migraine for almost a week and the migraine has been winning. She knows that when she has one of these headaches, she is not the best mother. Her temper is short. She has very little tolerance for the constant face touching and hair pulling that Goobs inflicts on her. She has even less tolerance for the "jungle gym Mommy" game that Bean insists on playing while it is rest time. The week has been long and has made Mommy question if she is cut out for this motherhood thing.
For the first time in days the headache has started to lift and thankfully, it has come in time for Mommy to go to bed. She crawls into bed and lays her head down. Just as she is drifting off to sleep, Bean starts screaming. He is having one of his night terrors. Mommy gets up and goes into his room. Bean usually has a night terror when he is over tired or anxious, and since today was a work day for her, she is not surprised that he is having one. Mommy has learned that it is best to just sit on the end of the bed and watch him so that he doesn't hurt himself from the kicking and flailing.
Mommy: "I'm right here Bean. Can you wake up?"
Bean: (screaming and crying) "Mommy, I want Mommy."
Mommy: "I'm right here honey. Mommy is sitting right here."
Bean continues to scream and holler, kick and flair for another 10 minutes, all the while calling for Mommy. If she lived 100 years ago, Mommy would be sure that her son was possessed. Mommy sits on the end of Bean's bed, unable to do anything as he screams for her. She continues reassuring him that she is right there, but he can't see her or hear her. Finally he seems to wake up and looks at her, confused.
Bean: (in a completely normal voice, totally unaware of what has just occurred) "Hi Mommy. Can I come sleep in your bed with you?"
Mommy is unable to resist this request. She is the product of a liberal arts education and she has taken her share of developmental and psychology classes. Not enough to do anyone any good, but enough to know that her little boy is somehow processing the stress of being away from his mother all day through his night terrors. She agrees to his request and they both climb into Mommy's bed. Bean slides over to Mommy's side to snuggle up with Mommy.
Bean drifts off to sleep. Mumbling something about fire dogs, construction dogs, Christmas dog and Christmas trucks. Mommy lays there in the dark, listening to her little man breathe. She wonders to herself, how can she love something so fiercely. Especially something that seems to have completely uprooted her life. Something that makes every single day a challenge. Nothing is easy with this thing around. He is messy, needy, clingy, still needs his own bottom wiped, and is the reason Mommy never has more than 5 minutes to herself. Somehow though, this is one of the only two things in this world that Mommy would give her life for. She lays there, trying to wrap her head around this concept. How can motherhood be so hard (and it is very, very hard) and yet she willingly does it, over and over again, day after day. If this were any other job, she would have quit a long, long time ago. The craziest part is that when it is all over and they are gone and she finally has her life back, she is going to wish that they weren't gone and that she could do it all over again.
Bean rouses, finds cozy blanket, rolls over to face Mommy.
Bean: "Mommy, I love you. You're a good Mommy."
Mommy: "I love you too Bean. Have a good sleep."
She goes to sleep in a puddle of tears, unable to comprehend how this wee little thing has turned Mommy into a total and complete mush ball, who now cries from joy and then goes on to tell the whole world about it in a blog. Motherhood has made a mess of her, but she supposes she wouldn't have it any other way.