Having a Moment, or Not

One random day earlier this month, after a very long and trying afternoon, Matthew and I were finally getting into a solid groove by the time the just-before-bed routine rolled around. I finished up dinner, got the little man into the shower off the kitchen (I don't need to watch his every move, but I like to hear what he's up to), and straightened up the war zone that had become my house just a few hours earlier, throwing every kind of toy and book into the nearest appropriate basket, bin or box. I let him play his customary write-a-story-on-the-shower-door-with-a-squirt-gun game for a few minutes before I ventured in to shampoo, soap, and rinse.

Water off. I wrapped the boy in a towel, and while I carried him upstairs to his room, Matt requested that for the remainder of the evening, I refer to him as a troll. Ah, okay. So I powdered the troll (I have a thing for the smell of Johnson's baby powder at bedtime; I'm sure he'll be dodging talcum squirts from his Mom well into his teen years), put on his jammies, and let him watch a show, then brought him back into his room for some quiet time.

We most likely read some sort of brainwashing material about staying in his own bed all night ("Back to Bed, Ed" by Sebastien Braun is my new favorite) or sharing, played a little bit, got him his requisite seltzer-and-a-snack, brushed his teeth, and then I tucked him in. He smelled so sweet, and his face was cuter-than-cute that night: eyes a soft green and his little brown hair all fluffy from the shower. He looked up at me and said "Mom, sing me a lullaby." Seriously, could it get any more "Little House"?

So I sang him "You Are My Sunshine," and as he usually does, he sang along softly with me. After such a crazy day, it was a moment that was so welcome. I was trying not to get all weepy while looking at this beautiful little boy who was singing these sweet words back to me. I was so in love. And then it happened. We finished our duet, and he paused for a moment. I could have sworn that a Disney-like twinkle reflected off his eye. He looked up at me with a smile, touched my cheek with his palm, and said, "Mom, I wish I had Leo's mother." Yup. That's right. With that, it was lights out.

And it just makes me think: this is what motherhood is all about. Looking into your child's eyes and connecting in a way only you and he or she can, thinking this is my life's purpose, this child right here. Then being knocked on your arse the next minute, and having to laugh through it all. Because if you didn't have a sense of humor before becoming a mommy, you darn well better find one now.