Oh, hey, how adorable is my blond-headed little guy?
(We don't often encourage the licking of one's fingers after Molly licks them around our house, but, you know, it was a Friday evening, after a long week. Judgment-free zone, k?!)
BUT, SO ADORABLE, RIGHT?
I am sometimes surprised when people don't fall all over themselves to talk about Kyle and how smart and perfect and cute he is. I'm all BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? And then I remind myself that the way I think of that random kid in Target who totally cut me off and won't stop randomly hollering about pretzels is probably how most people think of Kyle. I am his mother. It's probably a good thing if I'm the one who thinks he's the coolest of them all, you know? (Oh, and I totally do.)
There is something to be said, though, about becoming a mother in that I surprisingly don't love children, in general, any more than I used to. Oh, there are some kids I think hang the moon and love being around, and I'd babysit any of my friend's kiddos any day of the week, but my own child hasn't made me anything other than his mom.
I'm not this all-perfect, maternal person now. I'm just this normal, kind-of-messed-up woman who has a son she looks at every single day and thinks, Well, someone sure thought highly of me, didn't they? To give me you.
I don't think I'm alone in thinking that about my own kid. I also don't think I'm the first person to be right.