“Mommy. You’s my best fuhrend.”
Four little words, spoken by a little Kaiser in a rare moment of quiet. We were coming down the stairs after a bath. Descending to our home’s first level can take a good ten minutes. No, it’s not a big house. Uh, and not many stairs. But it’s slow going. I open the baby gate and we sit on the top step, holding hands. We plop. Step by ass-aching step, we plop together. If I go too quickly, Kaiser insists I back up a stair or two, to try it again. His way. And I let him have it, because really, what does it matter? What am I in such a hurry to do downstairs?
Lately I’ve been thinking about slowing down. I’ve been reflective in general. Particularly about Kaiser. It’s not fun, the recollecting. The guilt. I’m guessing it’s not going to be a helluva lotta fun to read either. Sorry, chickens, this is my blog. And on rare occasions, I’m serious. I know. Weird.
Guilt is fairly strong these days. Of course, a fair bit of that simply comes with motherhood. It’s a job requirement. But a bigger bit of the guilt is perfectly valid, a result of my own selfishness. I’m trying not to dwell on the past, but can’t, for a goddamn second forget. Nor should I.
The moments, the days, I’ve rushed through. Pushed him to go faster, get quiet, come inside, get up, be still. I haven’t often been the mommy I should have been. It frankly…sucks. To deal with that realization, day in and day out. To relive the little things I could have done, should have done. To be forced to evaluate myself in honest terms. To stop justifying. Really, really sucks.
September is a bittersweet and quiet month. But I’m genuinely thankful for it all — the wondrous and the excruciating. Because by taking the time to listen, I was blessed with the best four words I’ve ever heard.