Westley has started to stop in the middle of playing especially to tackle me.I'll be sitting on the floor, packing the diaper bag, minding my own business (maybe just a little distracted by the dance party in my head), and I'll feel 30 pounds of dude crash into my spine.
It's the best kind of jarring. I know it's his little way of checking in, touching base, telling me he's glad I'm around. And the more he strings words together, the more heartbreakingly sweet his gestures become.
On Friday morning, Westley caught me folding diapers. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed.
"I love you so much, Mom-mee."
Ow, my heart.
The effort he puts into articulating "mommy" is so dear it's painful, but this? I had to catch my breath.
"I love you so much, West."
I couldn't help but wonder how Westley had decided to tell me that he loved me "so much." Whenever I hear a new word or turn of phrase come out of his mouth, I search my mental catalog of terms and expressions, tones and inflections, and try to locate the source. Did he hear that from me?Then I wonder how much a two-year-old can understand "love." I'm pretty sure I don't understand it very well, to be perfectly honest. And I have to stop myself before I get all cynical and analytical. I make myself bask in the affection.
I breathe in the sweetness, the spontaneity, the unselfconsciousness while I try to locate the pieces of my exploded heart.
.....................................
