The Beauty of Parenthood

This past weekend was just awful. It all started when I called Chris on Friday to come home and help my pathetic butt off the floor. Ugh, I was a mess. A pukey, achy feverish mess. Thank goodness I have such a great guy that he did come home right away to take care of me. I just hate that he had to. I hate not feeling up to par. My son had made arrangements to be picked up by a friend, so that he may spend the weekend over at his house. That was good in that he was away while I was sick. By the time Sunday came, I know both Chris and I missed him terribly. And so it was that last night, while Kade laid his head against my stomach while we watched King Kong, I had a thought come into my head.

I am not just a parent, I am a pillow. My arms are swings. My legs are slides. My shoulders are a place to sit and view the world on high. My back is a jungle gym from which to cling. My butt is a punching bag. My body can be molded into a fort-like position to take refuge. My hands are sometimes rocks, sometimes paper and sometimes scissors. My feet are made to be poked. My ears are secret-keepers, holding onto those tiny little whispers. My lips can cure most ailments. My nose honks. But most of all, I am a pillow. Safety and security all right there to hold.