My youngest son, Griffin, cannot get enough of me, so it seems.
When I come downstairs, he's at the foot of them yelling my name.
When I go into the bathroom, he's pounding on the door yelling my name.
When I go outside, go into the kitchen, go into a deep thought ... he yells my name.
He toddles up to me, his arms raised, monkey-like, throws his head back and pouts.
It's not anything I am used to, I have to tell you. My oldest children were loving. They still are, in fact. It's not that. It's that they were more apt to chase their mother around and cry for her to pick them up. Not me. That's just how I thought it worked. I mean, since the womb these children have been attached to Mommy. They come out and are first held by her, breastfed by her, and more than likely, diapered by her.
If I deny Griffin, he plops down on his bottom and cries the cry of a ruined man. Decimated. Destroyed. All that he believed in has come crumbling down. Might as well jump from his crib. It's all over.
How the hell can I do that to him?
I do walk away some times. Only because, the kid needs to learn that he's not going to get picked up every time he wants something. But I always come back to him. I'm a sucker. One of these days I'm going to get a picture of his face when this happens. And I would defy you to walk away too.
I have come to crave hearing him yell my name. I have to be honest. And I feel a lift when I see his face light up when I enter the room and he throws his arms up. To be wanted so demonstrably. It's something I am not used to.
I have become accustomed to being the one with the arms raised, and toddling to my children for a kiss and a hug. (And they have gladly provided me that, don't get me wrong.)
But Griffin... Griffin is a snuggle monster. And I like that.