Why I Love Being a Mom

I turned down the lights and held him for a moment before I sang him a nigh-night song. He rested his little head on my shoulder listening to a voice that only a baby could love. I laid him down, tucked his cozy blankets gently around his body, and said a little prayer thanking God for my special boy and whispered “amen” to which he yell echoed me, “AMEEEENNNNNN!” I kissed him one last time, whispered goodnight and turned to leave. My heart began to race. I’m almost free! A casual tip-toe quickly became a sprint followed by my own version of touchdown show-boating on the opposite side of his bedroom door. I made a beeline for the kitchen. That bowl of cereal that I had been craving was seductively whispering my name, “Come and get me! You won’t even have to share one bite!” Just moments after the milk bathed my mini-wheats in nummyness, my ecstasy came to a screeching halt. It was interrupted by a little boy screaming at the top of his lungs. It appeared to be something urgent. “Moooooommmmmyyyyy!” Staring longingly at my cereal, I ignored the first five to ten shouts. Eventually, I admitted that I would have to suspend the passionate affair between me and my late night snack. Slightly dissheveled, I tear myself away from my lover and head back to the slave cave. Making my way toward his room, the beckoning voice becomes louder with every step. I whisper urgently, “I’m coming honey.” Translation: “Please oh please stop screaming before you wake up your sister.” I open the door expecting to see him standing in his crib, but instead I find him laying just as I left him all nuzzled in his blankies. The only difference is his left arm is raised with his index finger extended. He looks at me and softly comments, “Boogie.” I fumble around his finger to find a miniscule yet sticky fragment, peel it off his finger on to mine, whisper good night and make my way back to my cereal, grinning ear to ear. Despite the intensely hard work, I wouldn’t trade this job for the world!