Week Two

I could happily write about Thomas and all the silliness that is him.

We had a wonderful long weekend, which only added to the confusion of today. Thomas was sure his days of the dreaded DAYCARE were over, having spent three blissful days with Mummy and Daddy and then BAM!! back to a strangers house. Good Luck little man.

I just wish I could explain life to him, the need for a pay cheque and my dream of being at home with him all day, but I can't. He just has to cry it out.

It's easiest on me. I don't have to pack him up in the morning or hand him over. I don't have to watch him reach for me as I walk away AND thank GOODNESS. I wouldn't do it. I also don't have to be the stranger receiving the screaming child. I get to be the simple hero, the one that shows up after a long day and brings him home, smothers him in kisses and tickles his little baby cheeks. He loves me in that moment, more then anyone else. I squish his little face and smooch him RIGHT ON THE LIPS.

It's a huge boost to my self-esteem, having doubts whether he loved me at all most days (my issue, not his). I didn't bond with him the way I expected. He have are little conversations that no one else understands and he lets me smooch him, like no one else. We cuddle and play... he loves me, but sometimes I forget how much; sometimes I am wrapped up in how much I love him.

Even right now as I am killing time at my desk 80km away from him I am wishing I was hanging out with him in the living room. We would be watching Phineas and Ferb, he'd probably be sitting in his ball pit with cracker hanging from his lips. He would giggle every time I would call to him to 'Come here.' Then with impatience I would ambush him and he would fall down laughing as he tried to escape, but I would smother him in kisses and that would be the end of him. We'd probably share an applesauce and then think about heading upstairs for a nap, probably making a pit-stop in the BIG bed for a little Grover time. It would probably be awesome.

I miss the little fart.