Well, it’s happened. I’ve heard the stories, and I cringed. I’ve seen it on You Tube, and I sort of smiled (he said it so sweetly). But it took three sons of my own before it actually happened to me.
We were driving home from preschool. I asked if he was excited about singing on the stage later that night and that he should probably take a nap when he got home, and he said, “I don’t want to sing. I don’t want to nap. And I don’t like you anymore.”
If you’re one of those people who doesn’t really want kids and you’re always being asked to explain your position, and it gets really tiresome for you, SEND THEM TO THIS BLOG POST. All the hard stuff is way worth it to me, but that’s because I’ve been enchanted by the magic dust of motherhood that makes you love them so much it hurts no matter what they do or say. But for you, the idea of being told by someone you BIRTHED – someone you fed, clothed, bathed, wiped, stayed up with, sang to, soothed, and for whom you let the romantic comedy DVD pile gather dust while Robin Hood, 101 Dalmations, and Lion King II: Simba’s Pride were worn to shreds from frequent viewing, their songs seared into your brain until the lyrics and melodies spill out your ears on occasion when you least expect it – being told by that person, “I don’t like you anymore”, well, that should do it. The last point to your thesis: Why Motherhood’s Not For Me. And you’re welcome.
So for you, the women who don’t want the heartache, I won’t tell you that for that one time he said he didn’t like me, there’s been a gazillion in which he told me “I love you” without a smidge of prompting and that he took this one back shortly after when I told him how much it hurt my heart. And I won’t tell you how a certain middle school auditorium no longer has doors because they were blown completely off by the sheer volume of pride and adoration that burst from my sewn-up heart tonight when he sang You Are My Shunshine (yes, with the extra H) with sign language hand motions and everything. And as if the pride and adoration weren’t enough, he whipped out a kazoo for Verse Two, and I laughed so hard and so happily that I’m not even here right now. I’m in heaven, reliving every beautiful moment.