Is it Love?

His concerned eyes were fixed on me for reassurance from the moment we were called in. He looked so small in the dentist's chair, in spite of it being a pediatric office. I stood by him throughout the visit. Once the check-up and cleaning were completed, his little hands explored the toys and trinkets the dental hygenist held in the prize box that day. He was only three years-old, and he had been brave. 

We took the elevator down, and to Daniel's delight, we discovered there was a coffee shop on the bottom floor. After such a successful first visit to the dentist, I could not possibly deny him a treat. The coffee shop opened to pretty Centennial Lakes. We took a seat outside, and suddenly Daniel noticed the music coming out of a speaker hidden behind some plants. "Mami, ¿quieres bailar?" He stood up and took me by the hand. There, with a smiling couple as the audience, my little boy led me in a simple dance step right-to-left, left-to-right to the tune of some piece being played on Classical MPR. 

This memory takes me back to a very special time in my relatioship with my first son. As the mother of a young child, I was discovering and savoring such unexpected moments of trust and tenderness. My son desired to be with me, even though I could tell he was in his own little world. He let me observe, and he invited me in. He seemed to forget about everything and everyone around, except me. I was always close to his thoughts even if I escaped from his mind momentarily. 

I'm sure my experiences are commonplace; universal occurrances in motherhood. However, their intensity, and the ache they caused, took me by surprise. My anxiety made the ache worse. The fear of losing him, of not being able to protect him from evil, added to it. But so did these happy moments. Perhaps, mother love hurts because it digs in deeply, taking hold of us.

Watching someone grow from a tiny newborn to a baby 4, 6, 9, 12 months-old, crawling, walking, talking, reaching out for you, oblivious to the pain of the world, confident and trusting in your protection, is a humbling experience. Your number one desire is to give yourself to this human being, and in return you get smiles, you get arms stretched out, and "up-up-ups." You get an ovation while breastfeeding, contented eyes and clapping little hands, which may have another agenda, but speak of peace, security, and love, love, love. That's why a child asks to dance with you. That's why he asks to sit on your lap, why he asks you to read him a book, and why he hides behind you at the doctor's office. Love is expressed in a request for comfort, for protection, for provision, for playfulness. That's the reason, too, why a few years later they come to you asking for help to find a lost sneaker, to tie their shoe laces, and to get ready for crazy hair day at school... why they still want you to lie beside them until they fall asleep, or why they come to your room in the middle of scary nights. Love knows who to turn to.  

Much changes when children reach adolescence. How I miss the younger years! I miss Daniel's chatter after school. I miss the proud display of his work. I miss his requests for help to solve his child-size problems. I get none of that now. What does he want now? What does love move him to ask for? Could the signs of not only independence, but indifference, be the result of love? Does he trust in the strength of our relationship to the point of accepting conflict, bargaining, even harshness, as byproducts of love, albeit unconsciously? Are these only possible because of the safety and security which love provides; if not his, mine?

Now, he's 17! All I need to do to embarrass him is try to tell him about those years past, about the time he asked me to dance. Yet, there is a slight return to softer words, warmth, and barely perceptible smiles. Perhaps showing affection will stop being a source of embarrassment soon, and I will get to hear him say again, "I love you, mom."