He's had such a hard time falling asleep, I've pulled out his old lullaby CD that we listened to for approximately 2 years when he was a baby. Tonight, even that didn't work, so I went back in to his room, and asked him to think about something calm and happy. Dumb suggestion, as Mr. Anxiety could in no way see beyond the fact that he was still awake and it was stressing him out. So, I asked if I could talk to him about a calm, happy memory. I suggested talking about a hike in the mountains, which he was not a fan of. He suggested Halloween, which I was not about to start talking to a boy who needed to be calmed down about the spookiest night of the year, aka, the only day of the year wherein you can go ask people for candy and they will actually give it to you.
I asked him if he could think of anything else he'd like me to talk about. Sweetly, he said, what about when I was a baby? I turned to goo. Of course I'll talk about when he was a baby. Any time.
I told him how we used to go downstairs to the bedroom, I'd play his CD and give him some milk. That I'd rub his back just like I'm doing now, and rub his head, too. I told him how I would listen to the sounds outside, the snow, the neighbor's windchime, and how sometimes I would sing to him. He asked, "Can you sing me one of those songs now?"
The puddle of goo I already was turned to goo.
So, I sang him my favorite. The one that was not written about being a single grad student living a nice single grad student life and finding out that you were going to have a baby and then being given the most challenging, least like my own personality child I could have imagined, but it could have been:
Life was a song, You came along
I've laid awake the whole night through
If I ever dared to think you'd care
This is what I'd say to you:
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you
Nature patterned you
And when she was done
You were all the sweet things rolled up in one
You're like a plaintive melody that never lets me free
But I'm content
The angels must have sent you
And they meant you just for me...
And now he's asleep. The key to all of this is to remember that no matter what happens, no matter what drugs he's on or therapy he's undertaking, or letters of complaint I have to write, or hours of my weekend spent working from home or battles I have to don my suit of armor for, he's my baby. Always and forever. He's why I'm here, today, being the person that I am.