The screams that are currently assaulting my ears make me yearn for simpler times.
Times before I had Graham when I was absolutely certain about the type of person I was, the type of household I would run and, most significantly, the type of mother I would be.
I had it all planned out. I would be patient. I would be unruffled. On nights like tonight, I would not waver in my conviction that my son’s tearful, unrelenting chanting – Mama! Mama! – was symptomatic of fatigue as opposed to distress.
I would be logical. I wouldn’t even consider lifting him out of his crib, bringing him into the living room and allowing him to snuggle with me for an additional half hour on the couch. I would know – obviously - such actions would make it all the harder for him to settle down later.
I would never be one of those parents who let their children run their lives. I would be loving – of course I would be loving – but I would be firm. I would not be ruffled by tantrums. I would not be manipulated by – of all things – a two-year-old.
I was educated. I read all the books. I was secure in my belief that what children need above all else is consistency.
What could be simpler?
But then, back then, I never could have imagined how very, very complex the mixture of love, fear, protection and pain that a little boy’s cries can elicit.
