My sweet Monkey.

So, tonight, I introduce the Monkey.

My first born. The human that made me a mother. That child that has taught me more in 3 years, 9 months, and a handful of days than I learned in nearly 30 years of life.

I have always been so proud of this boy.  He’s amazing.  Truly.

Here is where all the truth begins: This perfect little boy has been trying lately. My sweet angel Monkey, with his little monk hands, big ole bobblehead, cute little smile, and amazing giant personality… has been so hard.  I mean, parenting is HARD, but this was the hardest thing I have ever experienced. My Monkey has always been easy.  He has laughed easily, snuggled often, loved whole-heartedly, and trusted completely.

Now, something is different.  I have known something is different. I could feel it.  I can feel it.  How could I not?  I am more in tune with this little guy than I have ever been with anyone else. I can’t explain it, but we share more than DNA.

I had assumed that he was reacting to the many changes that have been never-ending in the last year.  The things that our little family has been dealing with this last year would cause anyone to struggle.  I should know… I have been struggling.  It hadn’t occurred to me, however; that I needed to change the way that I deal with my little love.

Which, brings me back to tonight.  I completed the normal bedtime routine with the kids, placed them into their snug beds, overflowing with “buddies” and blankets, cuddled them, gave kisses and hugs, and told Monkey that I loved him, that he was special, amazing, my little rock, and my “most favorite” of all little boys.  I ask what his favorite thing was of the day, the least favorite part, if he has any questions, and then remind him that I will check on him soon.  We exchange one more “I love you”, a hug and kiss, and I close the door.  I have done this every night.

Tonight, when I returned to his room after placing my Peach safely in her bed, he was up bouncing around and watching a Miles of Tomorrowland cartoon.  It was 9:20. His face, when I opened the door, was shocked and embarrassed.  I questioned him.  “What on Earth are you doing”?  He replies to me, “Miles is my only friend”.  WHAT?!

I sat and talked with him, twenty minutes of talk with my nearly 4 year old.  It was insightful.  He has missed me in ways I never thought about.  I was not only his mommy, his care-giver, the one who brought him snacks and filled his cup; I was the person, the friend, that spent my days with him.  I played Jedis and Storm Troopers, I read books, I helped him, I taught him things he wanted to know (and some that he didn’t want to know).

He is scared.  He thinks I am not going to be here for him anymore.  He is scared that I won’t take him on dates anymore.  The fear is so real, it’s altering his being.  As a mother, I feel like I should have known before.  I feel guilty.  My son, my reason, is hurting.  Life is scary and I did not do my job to help navigate these shaky, crazy, intense times.

I don’t have a plan yet, but I will make this better.  I will help him to understand, to grow, to make this new normal even more amazing.  The truth is, he will forget the old normal long before I do, he will stop missing me long before I stop missing him, he will make new friends, become more independent, and make me prouder than I could ever imagine.  I will forever long for the days that I spent with my super snuggly, amazing, perfect son.

So, tonight, this small, amazing, genius person taught me that despite what you are going through, you have to look out for the people that look out for you.  It applies to everyone, doesn’t it?  It seems so obvious.  The Golden Rule.  My Monkey should teach the world.