Member-only story
When Small Children Tear You to Pieces
And you relish it because they’re not forever young
I woke up early today to try to get some work done. Though I’m on leave from my teaching job — which I left to make it up to my children — every now and then I still get paper submissions for incomplete grades, and the occasional assignment to write something.
The thing is, whenever I wake up early, like when I used to get up early for class, two-year-old Joaquin senses that I’m up and will get up, too. The only way for him to get back to sleep is for me to lay myself down on the bed beside him, with his hand tucked inside my shirt. He’ll slip back to sleep only with this assurance that I won’t slip away from him. And that with his hand in my shirt, he’ll sense it if I did.
Back to bed, I’ll either fall back to sleep myself, or get a headache fighting to stay awake. It’s a losing battle. I luxuriate in my son’s love as I beat myself up for work to be left undone.
Left alone at home with the kids, I do the chores, usually to a backdrop of a crying refrain. Unlike his sister who’s a gentler soul, Joaquin is a very demanding and noisy baby who gets what he wants. But I’m just as stubborn (sometimes). I stay at the sink and get the cooking and the cleaning done.
