I love when he sits in the car seat in the back of Oz, our green Taurus, and claps along when I play Guster on the radio.
But I hate when he refuses to eat and then screams and cries and tries to lead me over to the chocolate or the soda or something junky that I don’t want him to have. It’s not like I can reason with him at all, or even communicate anything really at all, and he doesn’t understand, and I get frustrated beyond belief….
But I love how he will lift my shirt a little to blow raspberries on my tummy and dissolve into giggles…
And I love when he first sees me at the end of the school day, when I walk in to pick him up…how his face lights up all boyish & bright & happy.
I love when he is delighted by a game of “maaaaaaaama’s goooonnnna get-you get-you getchoo!” and he shrieks and laughs and takes off running so I can chase him….
But I hate that he can’t look at me and say “Mommy, I love you.”
I hate even more that he may never be able to.
But I love when he tells me without words — with kiss after sweet little innocent kiss, and hugs, and laughter, and the thing inside each of us that transcends communication itself —
— eyes meet eyes and something of the soul itself can speak!