One of the most annoying things about my son is how he prevents me from being totally selfish. Let's say I've had a horrible day at work, and all I really want to do is come home, shut myself away from the world, and curl up with a good book of Alice Munro short stories.
Well, my son won't let me. "Mommy!" he yells happily upon seeing me, without even waiting to see if my face is grumpy or sad, and then he runs to greet me (or, okay, more realistically, goes back to coloring or chasing his little friend around the living room).
Then, if it's not, "Mommy, I'm hungry," it's, "Mommy, I want to play Mau Mau," or, "Mommy, look at how good I color," or, "Mommy, can you push me on the swing?" I swear, the kid is nothing but a bottomless pit of need. "Mommy, I want you to snuggle me," he said to me tonight. Then it was, "Will you read me a book, mommy?" Sheesh, kid, leave me alone, willya?
Ah, but seriously. Seriously. Sometimes, even when I really, really want to be selfish and focus just on me -- on how unhappy I am, or on the mistakes I've made in my life, or on how deep in debt I am -- he really does prevent me from achieving my objective.
And you know what? It's wonderful.
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