Yesterday I picked my boys up from the bus stop like I do every weekday. They came running up to me smiles on their faces, probably more excited that it was the weekend, than to see me. Hahaha. As usual I asked about their day on the short walk home, and they both said it was good. That’s about all I get.
We get home and I hastily opened the door to our apartment, and pushed little ones stroller inside. It was a long day with my three year old and I was ready to plop infront of the tv and watch the Grey’s Anatomy episode I recorded.
M (my eight year old), told me I had to read what he made for me for Mother’s Day. I told him I can’t wait to read it on Sunday and he lost it. (For those of you who haven’t been reading or following M has autism) He told me that I don’t love him, and I don’t care about anything he does. He was crying and screaming uncontrollably.
He was curled up clutching my present on the couch. I came down to his level and told him how I love him forever, and nothing will change that. I looked in those sad, confused blue eyes and took the book from his hands and read it.
Then my tears came. I felt so awful that it tore him apart when I said I’d read it on Sunday. That one sentence made him so upset. I felt selfish because I wanted to read it on Mother’s Day, and it didn’t even cross my mind that he would melt down. It should have.
I gave my sweet little man the biggest hug, thanked him, told him how amazing he is, and wiped away his tears. He didn’t want me to wait until Sunday, and that’s okay. ❤️