My firstborn has a gift of gab that regularly makes me smile, shake my head, or laugh out loud and/or temporarily lose control of bodily functions. But on the other side of all those comical quips are the occasional words that break my heart.
A few days ago, as I was administering morning milk and diaper changes and bleary-eyed snuggles as usual, both toddlers tugging on me and grappling for a prime lap spot, Gunnar firmly grabbed my knee, looked me in the eye, and said, "I want Annie's mommy."
I felt my heart drop as I looked into his wide, slightly asymmetrical eyes (same as mine). From the day the "new baby" became a reality, this was the exact notion I prayed would never cross his remarkable little mind.
In the short term, I squeezed my little boy and told him how much I loved him. I told Brian I needed some one-on-one time with Gunny ASAP. So seizing the earliest opportunity, I set out to do the weekly grocery shopping with my son instead of staying home with Annie while the boys hit the store.
Despite my two-year-old's clear craving for my attention, he initially resisted the change in routine: "No! I go shoppin' wid Daddy." Usually eager to skip out the door and climb into his own carseat, Gunnar had to be carried out the door and forcefully deposited into his seat by both Brian and me.
Gunny warmed to the idea as soon as I flicked on his Rocketship Music--one of Brian's classical CDs, by what composer I couldn't tell you.
I got weary of the food-procuring experience in the freezer section, still needing to circle around and grab bread, produce, and meat. "Gunny, Mommy really doesn't like food shopping, but having you here makes it fun," I confessed.
"I go lookit flowers?!" he reminded me.
Yep, that was the next stop on the weekly father and son excursion, and one I might have mistakenly passed by. Since it wasn't too outrageously crowded--and I was still feeling horribly guilty about that morning's remark and everything that must have led up to it--we circled the florist section three or four times. We leaned over and smelled nearly every bouquet.
"Flowers smell nice!" Gunny announced proudly.
I soldiered on through the rest of the detestable errand through an increasingly mobbed store, pausing to beam at my little boy as often as possible.
As we passed through the automatic sliding doors out to the steamy parking lot, Guns said, "We did it! Good job, Mommy."
Yeah, we did. Though I think there are still some improvements we could make. Next time, I won't Bogart established Gunny and Daddy time; we deserve to have our own special outings (which might conveniently not involve fluorescent lights and cart rage). Even if it's just to the playground or to feed the ducks, we'll do more Mommy and Gunny stuff as much as logistics allow.
And as soon as my firstborn is old enough, I'll let him read this whole blog. I'll let him see for himself that he was the one who made me a mom. He was the little boy who changed my life. And no matter how many children we add to our family (still most likely zero--settle down), I will always, always be Gunnar's mommy.
