This is Where I Fit

The pale light of early morning creeps around the blinds in the bedroom, the one that’s supposed to belong to my husband and I, but is really the resting spot for three: me, my husband and our six-year-old son.

(Funny story, before I go on: Earlier this summer, my husband and I purchased a new bed – for the TWO of US. As the delivery men were setting it up, my son sauntered up to our room to survey the scene. “Nice. We got a new bed,” he declared, nodding his approval.)

He’s the youngest of four children and, if I am being honest, the one who’s been denied the least : television, video games, movies generally not watched by a six-year-old (Honestly, I forgot how raunchy Spaceballs was), and an independence heretofore not earned until at least second grade.

Whether through wisdom or the withering of our aging parental veracity, he’s just growing up faster than the others.

Except for this. Our foreheads are pressed together and his breathing is soft, rhythmic, calming. He slings his arm over my torso. “Mommy, I want to snuggle with you.”

I’ve been struggling lately with where I fit in. Between high school and adulthood, I never fully shed that feeling of being an outsider, almost part of something, but not quite. Some things have happened in my adult life to lend credence to this feeling: a non-invite to a group event; being told by a friend that my son didn’t meet her son’s cool factor any longer; inside jokes.

Still, much of it is an unfortunate holdover from the insecurities of my teen years. As the years went on, things got better, as they often do during adolescence. But it turns out there’s parts of us that never quite graduate high school, and those parts often come roaring back during motherhood.

Motherhood is a fickle thing – as is life, I suppose. One day, I’m thinking like, I just really have my shit together. I f*cking nailed this. My kids are fed. My house is clean (enough). I killed it at work. I have friends. Life is good. Then the next day, as fragile as a glass mirror, it can crack, leaving broken shards where a full picture used to be. Sometimes this is real; but lots of times it’s perceived.

But this? THIS is where I truly fit. Without question. Without hesitation. Lying in bed with my six-year-old in the crook of my arm, our foreheads pressed together, the pale morning light creeping around the blinds in the bedroom.

“Mommy, I want to snuggle with you.”

Motherhood (and YES, also my husband) GAVE me this, this unlimited access to unconditional love, this powerful antidote to my fears, worries and anxieties. Those little hands, that quiet tiny voice: they hold so much sway.

And it’s something I need to learn better to NEVER take for granted.