Mother's Child: The Sweet Hello

Dear Mrs. Rothwood,

     Children are a heritage from the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is His reward.  How are your dear little ones?

     Mama's boy holds such a negative connotation in our culture.  It brings to mind a co-dependent man-child who is lorded over by and dotes upon his domineering and controlling mother.  It makes me cringe, though, when a young boy-child is name-called "mama's boy" simply because he seeks out his mother for comfort, as any child ought to do. It is God-given and natural.

     Mother's child is my preferred term.  Not only is it sweeter sounding and is not part of our derogatory colloquialisms, but it is also gender-neutral, which lessens gender-biased judgments.

     I wax political, but ultimately, I am writing about my second son.  While they are all, of course, my mother's children, Little Master B has a special love for me right now that warms my heart.  He is at that age, you know, where mothers are their first loves - old enough to be conversationalists and companions, but young enough to still depend upon mother dear.

     His evidence of special love for me is apparent in his eyes, large and rimmed with long lashes, and in his chirpy little voice.  "Hello, mom," he says, in the sweetest way possible.  It brightens my day.  It awakens me.  It blesses me.

     Even his teacher at school has fallen for his genuine affection and loving nature.  Sweetheart, sweetie, darling, and such a good boy are all adjectives applied to his character.  He is a special one, as they all are in their own ways.  Each one warms my heart differently, but today I write of how he warms mine.

     He was the one baby I could really relax and enjoy.  My oldest, being the first, was a challenge for me as all my preconceived notions and expectations fell to the wayside. It took me by surprise that I wasn't the naturally perfect mother I imagined myself to be.  My daughter came next and little did I know in her infancy that she had special needs, which in turn made her a very challenging baby and toddler.  I wish I could go back and do it over for her, but I just didn't know.  I had never heard of babies having sensory processing disorder and migraines.  My youngest boy, I unfortunately suffered strong postpartum depression.  I did my best to enjoy and hold onto his infancy since I knew he would be my last, but depression is merciless.

     Little Master B, however, oh, how I enjoyed him.  I nursed him without boundaries.  I wore him and held him and co-slept, staring at his adorable pokey little profile.  He didn't cry for the first 3 months.  He didn't need to.  He was content, as was I.  I knew there was something unique and special about him.  There really is.  

     I refuse to name favorites among my children, because how can you pinpoint a favorite among so many wonderful variants?  Each are uniquely marvelous and uniquely flawed in their own, miraculous ways.  I adore them all!  And Little Master B. is certainly a shining star.  This mother's child.  Even within a simple, sweet "hello."

Sincerely,

Mrs. D. Scott