Forever a love triangle

your little soft face pressed Into the palm of my hand. Little wet nose from the night terrors you’ve cried since an infant. Your little thigh draped over mine, that diaper-like-underwear pressed in between as you sniffle the last few whimpers over your shi-shi accident that hampered your pride to be pull-up-free. You love to make me proud - that cheeky grin and squinty eyes say it all when you tell me something you did, something you understand and you see I’m pleased. So much like your father in that sense but ... in so many ways, like me. 

“Don’t leave me, mom...don’t you like the picture I made for you?”  eyes widened big, searching for that security in my face. 

Isnt that the tug on my heart, that those little desperate attempts to have me proud remind me so much of my own when I was age 3...

.

3 going on 4, drawing the cartoons that Ended up magnet-ed on Grandpa’s fridge.

...beaming! I didn’t mean to make the picture so cool but his eyes lit-up and he put down his drink on that old, wooden kitchen table to hold up my paper and after a full thorough moment, did that deep stare in my eyes with his Japanese eyes squinted In smile ...

so I did something special, right? Yes, yes, I’m special! I’m this sunshine feeling! I’m the warm and sing-song feelings! I’m... loved? Right? That’s what it means when you smile and make that attention on my picture! I must make more So we can be warm together always! I belong here...

The drippy nose starts running down my upper lip - down onto the Jurasic Park pillowcase. It’s My tears this time while his little almond shaped eye-lids close back into deep sleep. Can’t help but feel a little guilt for snapping at him all these times I’ve had another child demanding me away from him. How many times I cried this way for his older sister too when he was the little baby demanding me away from her little-person needs. “I just want to snuggle with you, mom,” He always chimes in that high, squealy little-boy voice. “Don’t be mad at me, mom,” standing at the doorway watching me rock the other child in my arms with that big puppy-dog look. “I love you, mom,” pout - That immediate fear of me being dissapointed.

Ugh, don’t do that! The physical doing of motherhood is not what caused those few grey strands to pop out before age 30 (not that constant scrubbing, doo-doo, laundry, and broken things are in anyway not stressful) but - it’s these emotional war-tugs of having no way to soothe the heartbroken middle child, or older kindergartener, yet again, of his or her fight for my undivided attention...

“I love you, Kana’i,” I whisper to his little Body gripping mine. “No matter how mad mommy is or how many times you don’t listen and even if I’m holding Haea and not you for a long time, I always, always love you, Kana’i. I’ll always come back for you. I’ll always find you. I’ll always know you and be so glad to be your mommy...” have to open my mouth to breathe no since I’ve clogged my nose with these sentimental tears. His fingers, twined through my hair, finally subside in grip as he pulls out a leg from under the blankets, the last step in his fall-asleep routine. 

Sleeping.

at last. The only time I can truly take time to only be with you... here in the hours all eyes are closed.  these days of mommyhood and I guess, forever more, we are in a love triangle.