The sweetest thing ever …. when my little ever-active, non-stop, truck-smashing boy nudges up beside me, and hugs my leg, resting his head at my hip. His hugs are genuine, intentional, often unsolicited, and, best of all, extra-squeezey.
I’ll tousle his thick hair, rub his (still so) tiny shoulder, and absolutely cherish the moment. In that instant, I can’t be more full of love. Or pure unequivocal joy. And in those moments, I usually also counter the happiness by confronting the transient nature of these instances. My boy will grow up, and he will also grow away. And with a flash, I feel the immense pressure of the dichotomy of happiness and sadness, not in opposition, but rather muddled in a blended composition of complex parental love.
I am in love with that little person more than I could ever convey with words. Or images. But him, sidled up next to my leg, hugging it with all his three-year-old might, is the closest I can come to conjuring a fraction of an explanation.
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