Unrequited love

There are times when I look at my little boy and I wonder how I could love him any more than I do. Admittedly there are also times when I wonder how I can find anyone more frustrating, especially when it's taken 30 minutes to get him up the stairs to bed because he's decided to do it like a jumping frog and banged his head twice in the process. Twenty more minutes and he's calmed down again and after bedtime stories (and banging his head another three times) he's tucked up under the covers, peacefully sleeping. They're always lovely when they're sleeping aren't they?! They lull you into a false sense of security that you actually enjoyed cleaning the marker pen off the table, wiping dog poo from their shoes and pinning them down mid-tantrum in the supermarket isle today. Sleeping children make you feel like life is just perfect.

As the years have gone by, though, there are actually more occasions that I feel like this when he's awake too. Yes, really. There's not a day that goes by when I'm not desperate to squeeze him, or stroke his velvet hair, or kiss his soft rosy cheeks. Ive turned into one of those irritating people that just goes on about their kids all the time because they're Just. So. Great. I find him incredibly funny and clever and sweet. I love spending time with him. I want to hang out with him more.

This is all good and well until you realise that your child is never going to look at you and want to squeeze your rosy cheeks, or tell you he wants to hang out with you over his best friend George, or tell you how great you are at cleaning poo. Sure, he likes me some days (mainly the times when I have food on offer) but he will one day leave home and do his own thing and won't think twice. I'm sure he'll still love me, miss me even, but, let's face it, I doubt he will choose to join me for tea over drinks with his mates down the pub. If he did I'd probably be a little worried.

As a parent you have to hold your children with open hands - hold them any tighter and they will suffocate. There are times when I try to hug him and he pushes me away. It doesn't mean he doesn't love me, it just means he needs some space. His little hand in mine is slowly slipping away - he wants to walk by himself, to be independent, his own person. I should feel proud that I've given him the ability to do this, but I can't help feeling a little sad.

I remember once telling my Dad that he 'loved me too much'. My Dad was appalled at such a comment and it's only now that I can understand why my Dad protected me in the way that he did, and why he found it so hurtful. I think the context of this comment was after getting home thirty minutes late from school because I'd been to the library (yes, the library) and he was anxious. I was sixteen. He told me it was because he loved me. I told him that the likelihood of me getting abducted in a busy market town at 4pm was slim. I remember continually feeling claustrophobic, like I had no space to make my own mistakes - my parents always anxious about my choices and my whereabouts. They didn't want me to get hurt.

I still consider them with the choices I make today, though I'm thirty three and live forty miles away. I still don't want to hurt them and I don't want them to worry about me. And as much as they love me and have the best intentions for me, I would like Albie to have more freedom to be able to let go of my hand every now and again and explore the world for himself; to learn to make mistakes. Because mistakes aren't all bad, they're the basis for building firm foundations. They're the things that make us. I wish I had made more of them. Maybe not the big, life changing ones, but the little everyday ones that shape you a little. Now I'm scared to make any at all.

My son will never look at me in the same way as I do at him; he will never feel the pride I feel for him; he will never know how deep my love goes, but the closest he will get to knowing it will be if I give it as a gift - a gift to see him make his own paths. A gift to be himself, to have freedom to make mistakes, to explore and create and to live life without the fear of other's opinions, even mine. A gift doesn't expect anything in return. That's tough. It doesn't mean it's unrequited or unappreciated though, it just means it empowers someone to be who God created them to be, rather than who you want them to be.