Tomorrow's Another Day.

Dear H,

I just walked down the hallway to find you fast asleep falling out of your bed. I lifted your limp (yet heavy) body back to the center of the bed and you fought me in your sleep.

I wince as I cover you up with your blanket and kiss your soft cheek goodnight.

Tomorrow's another day. I whisper and I walk out of the room and flip the hall light off.

We were not at our best today, you and I. And I want to make excuses for you, I want to say you're overtired or you're getting sick or you've spent too much time with a bad role model. But I can't.

Cause it's normal. And you're 3 and a half. And a boy.

We were rocky starting out today because yesterday afternoon, in a moment after I lost my cool and sent you to wait in the entryway, you told me that I was mean.

And for the first time, words came out of your mouth that hurt me. That made me question me.

When I checked in on you and kissed you goodnight last night, I whispered. I miss you, Tomorrow will be better.

I woke up today with high hopes that today would indeed be better. That I would be patient and loving and kind and that you would be my sweet boy that does not talk back and always listens. (Ok, I was partially dreaming.)

The day did not go well. I was already not feeling 100% so between a trip to the doctor, the pharmacy, a friends house, an allergic reaction and getting you to school, I was already pretty much shot.

The meds I was given didn't agree with me and it wasn't long after I took them that I started to feel sick. The world and your words were foggy.

So as I zipped up your jacket and slipped on your hat before school, I was numb when you told me, I was a bad mama.

All because I made you put a clean shirt on before school.

But I heard it and I hear it, even now eight hours afterwards, I hear your voice telling me.

You are my happy, joyful, full of life boy and I love you so much that hearing those things out of your mouth break me down, chip at my heart and hurt me at the core.

By the time I picked you up at school I had forgiven and was ready for your big blue eyes and a great giant hug from you.

And instead I got tired eyes and a whiny little boy who pushed and prodded and provoked all afternoon, through dinner, bath and storytime.

And now you're asleep, in your bed and I am overcome with grief over our day.

I know that you love me, I do. And I know that you don't know what you're saying when you tell me I'm mean or a bad mama. Or maybe that's naive of me.

Seemingly overnight you've changed on me. You've lost your baby look. You're older and smarter and sassier and today you gave me a taste of something I don't like so much.

But H, this is a stage and a phase. And you, you are worth fighting for. If that means I need to combat this sassy talk and behavior head on, I will.

Because you know, I'm your mama and no matter what, I see the best in you and will do everything I can for you to be your best. And there is nothing you can do or say that will make me stop loving you and fighting for the best in you.

These days are going to happen. This isn't the end of that but we need to remember that tomorrow's another day.

With love, to the moon and where the aliens live, and back, sweet boy.

Mama

Mama and H. On a better day.