The Making of a Boy

It happened in an instant, so quickly that I hardly recognized how much it mattered. Just like every other act of parenting that I’ve witnessed—in such an instant that if I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed it.

But I didn’t.

We were playing last night, Matthew and I, on the kitchen floor. It was after dinner. Some friends were with us, and they were playing cards with the big kids at the dining room table. Matthew and I were giggling and playing together. That’s when it happened.

He turned from me, lost his balance, and landed on his face on the linoleum. It was a pretty good fall, and his two crooked teeth in the front of his mouth pierced the inside of his lip, causing a lot of blood.

He started to cry and wouldn’t stop. I scooped him up and began to rock him, singing him a mama lullaby and holding him in my arms. I wiped his mouth, snuggled him for a second, and then sat on the floor to distract him with toys.

A few months ago, after his lip repair, my boy wanted nothing to do with me. When he was in pain, he’d sink to the floor and cry, letting the cool wood soothe him along with his tears. He didn’t want me to touch him. And last night, as I sat on the floor, I watched him do that very thing—he turned from me, knelt on the floor, and cried harder.

But this time, something was different. Even as he lay on the floor, he kept turning and looking at me over his shoulder. Than it happened. He stood up, walked back over to me, put his arms up, and sank into my breast as I rocked him close.

The floor no longer comforted him. It was mama that he wanted.

As I held my boy, rocking him over and over again, his blood and tears pooled on my shoulder and then my tears joined his own.

This is the making of a boy, these moments when pain becomes joy, when a baby finally understands that strong, warm arms are more comforting than a cold, hard floor. This isn’t something that a boy learns with words, but instead by the touch of skin, the feel of kisses on his head, the sound of a mama’s heartbeat, the smells of body and shampoo and breath.

And this is what being a mama is really about—not just a growing baby in the womb, but the hours and days of loving and holding, of tending and healing.

So ask me where where my heart is found these days, and this is what I'll answer: it's here, weaving a colorful tapestry for all three of my children—of love born of body AND of heart, of moments so small that I might have missed them if I wasn't paying attention.