i love you really much

the other night as joey and henry nestled in for bedtime books in the wooden rocking chair beside henry's bedroom window, i leaned in past h's blue sippy cup to give him a kiss and to tell him one last time before leaving them alone, "i love you, henry." and in the same way he always does, he continued to drink his milk as if his very life depended on each gulp, focused hard on the page joey was about to start reading, and stole the quickest of breaths to mumble, "wruv ew," before latching back onto his cup and ushering me out of his room with the turn of his head. i smiled as i got up to turn around, and took one more glance at my handsome little boy in his fleece onsie 'jamas, buried beneath his treasured blanket, and stacked on top of my husband - maybe the most precious site. and then, out of nowhere, henry's head arched back up. he unlatched his milk and peered at me with worried, sincere eyes and said, "i wruv ew wriddy much." he extended the last word, "mu-uch," morphing the monosyllabic, simple word into an emotion-soaked, somewhat forlorn two syllables. it reminded me of the way he sounds describing how the little monkey cries when he falls off the bed, "he's wriddy sa-ad."

i stopped, stunned at how his eyes seemed to carry so much meaning in those moments. stunned at how grown up he feels at just two and a half. stunned at how much i can love someone so enormously who seems to take every last ounce of sanity and energy from my days.

there are no words to aptly describe the feeling of being a mom. i think that's why so many people try consistently, almost religiously, across a child's life to put into words the meaning of motherhood or the emotions that swing in an out of a single day spent mothering. each stage of childhood feels like a new phenomenon, waiting to be documented with complex specification. so as not to forget. so an not to lose sight of even a sliver of detail. because even as we live it we know how fleeting and precious the moments are.

for me, the highs and lows of motherhood extend to such extremes it sometimes feels like henry and i are on the most insane roller coaster, and someone (most likely me) irresponsibly gave henry the all-powerful throttle. most nights, it takes all remaining energy that i have to brush my teeth and fall hard into bed - long before most would consider it a reasonable hour for sleeping. i don't take the time these days to reflect on the magic of it all. i forget that the hard days turn into the very days i will always yearn for, and inevitably some day ache for.

in that moment, as i sputtered in place, staring in awe at my little boy, it was all i could do not to pick him up, kiss his gooshy cheeks, and hold on to him in an absurd attempt to capture everything he was in that second with just my arms. instead, i kissed him one last time and brushed his gooshy cheek with my hand and thanked god for the incredible gift of that little boy.

henry, my stinker, i love you really much, too.