part of the package

One of my fondest memories of being a young child was when my dad would read to me from the Winnie the Pooh books.  It was a special time before bed, for cuddling and stories and Eyore and Piglet voices.  It was a special time for just us.
 
Once evening as we were finishing the last chapter of the House at Pooh Corner, I was half dozing in my dad's arms as we lay on the couch together.  I was partly lulled to almost-sleep by his voice, and it was probably just before bedtime.  Suddenly, his voice started to crack - and Christopher Robin didn't sound like Christopher Robin, and Pooh didn't sound like Pooh.  I was confused, and looked up at my dad, and noticed he was crying as he read to me.  At the time, being very young, I was not only very confused as to why my dad was crying, but alarmed - my dad was crying and dads aren't supposed to cry.  I remember trying to pretend that everything was normal and alright because the idea of a parent being vulnerable and sad and all that stuff that only kids are supposed to feel was very scary to me back then.  And because of that fear, I never forgot that day.
 
Now, being much older and wiser, I know why my dad got teary at that section of the book: Christopher Robin was telling his life-long friend Pooh that he wasn't going to be coming to the Hundred Acre Wood anymore because he was growing up.  And that he'd never forget Pooh - but poor old Pooh was going to be left behind and will miss Christopher Robin and their adventures terribly.  Its enough to slay any parent with a young child in their arms.  Ever since then, Pooh stories remain very special and symbolic to my dad and I as it not only reminds us of our closeness when we were very young, but of our bond today, which, thankfully, remains as strong as ever.
 
I tell you this story because I had my moment with my son that was like history repeating itself.  We have a book - like many modern-day parents do - called Love You Forever . The story is about a new mum who has a baby boy, and every evening when the baby is very much asleep, she'll creep into his room, hold him in her arms, and rock. While she rocks, she softly sings to him: 
 
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be."
 
She does this over and over - when he's two years old, when he's 10, 18, 25, etc.  Its touching, but in all honesty, I thought a bit much and not that moving when I first read it cover to cover. But its a nice story.
 
Well.
 
The other evening Ethan would not go to sleep, surprise surprise. I sat in the rocking chair in his room and rocked him back and forth, trying to get him sleepy, which he'd have nothing of.  I grabbed the closest book to me on the bookshelf, which was Love You Forever.  So I started to read it to him as he nestled in my arms.  I read about the mum, rocking her son at every age, and then I got to the part.  The part where the mum is an old lady and sick and dying, and the son, now a grown man, comes to see her and picks up her frail body, puts her in his lap, and holds her and rocks her, and sings:
 
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my mommy you'll be".
 
Well, lets just say that I had tears streaming down my face which landed in poor Ethan's hair as I read that, in a cracked voice, to my little son.  I know I'm his world - I'm so thankful and lucky.  But I just hope that he'll need me as much as he does now when he's grown and independent and strong.  All the stuff that mums worry about.  He'll always be my little one - and I hope to always be his protector and have a special place in his heart. 
 
Its part of the package - this thing called parenthood.  Constantly amazing, paralyzing, frightening, enriching, and surprising.  I feel so vulnerable, yet invincible where he's concerned.  I guess that will never change.