I sometimes think the Husband and son have embarked on some sort of secret club from which I don’t know the quirky handshake, and therefore am not allowed in. Perhaps its just all part of the inglorious “terrible two’s” that we are enduring, but I am beginning to feel like I am an intruder in my own home.
No one likes to feel invisible I suppose, let alone like the token third party only invited along out of pity. And I do so love the fact my boys have such a sturdy, unshakeable bond – I just wish there was room for one more in this gang!
If its just Harrison and I at home, I am worthy to act as the sun, moon, stars and sky around which his world revolves. Yet the minute the Husband appears in our universe, I am cast aside like last season’s fashion, quicker than it takes for a supermodel to consume her (probably non-existent) lunch. If I’m not being told to “get off” the lounge they are sitting on, or to “go away Mummy” when its time for bed, I’m enduring the cold shoulder of contempt as my son glares at me and buries his head further in to the chest cavity of his father.
Being a sensitive soul, I’ll admit there are times when I am a little crushed by his behaviour. The Husband even winces in mutual pity at times, offering an almost embarrassed “ouch, that’s harsh” in sympathy. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am sure these actions are being performed with no intentional malice towards me. Its just that I adore my son so much I wish I was the one being showered in such unconditional love as the Husband is rewarded with. Or is it just the lot of the Mummy to bear this burden, seeing as though we are the ones who offer up the majority of discipline and mundane day-to-day requests in their world? Not much excitement to be gleaned from this angle, is there?
Perhaps Harrison is exploring that male phenomenon usually reserved for the dating scene: “treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen”. Because the further he pushes me away in tangible disdain, the more fervent my advances to try and re-ignite his affections towards me are.
The upshot is that I have learned to cherish every single infrequent cuddle when it comesmy way, and treasure every chance to be showered with his atypical attention. Like last Thursday night, when we came home after a long day out, and all he demanded, in a sad little boy lost voice was to “sit with my mummy”. It didn’t matter that I had two loads of washing to do, packing to be done, floors to be swept. I just sat on that lounge and silently revelled in the rare affection that was being suddenly lavishly bestowed upon me, his little body twisted in a comfortable ball in my lap. And when it came to bedtime, and his first choice was not home to tuck him in, he begged me to hold his hand and hug him til he fell asleep. Never in the two years and 3 months of his life has he asked me to do this! It was all I could do not to swoon like an over eager teen meeting her pop star idol for the first time!
I suppose there comes a time in every mother’s world when her son gravitates towards the males. I just never expected it quite so soon! Though I imagine my future daughter-in-law will at least be pleased with this way of the world as she certainly wont have a Mummy’s Boy on her hands – unless no one else is around to see it, that is! Maybe we do have our own secret society after all, and it’s a club solely built for two: me and you Harry, even if its when we have no one else but ourselves in our world xx