It was just a simple remark. No harm was meant, word that flowed as easily as cold beer on a humid August afternoon. Sometimes thoughts are spoken and interpreted far beyond their meaning. I am famous for this deep acknowledgement of the verbiage that seems to stalk me. I notice, I take note, I decipher and reflect, my own interpretation likely skewed from the intended meaning.
“He’s a Mama’s boy,” she said, her acknowledgement light and airy though I perceived an air of haughtiness or did I? My mind plays tricks on me and once someone who teased incessantly, I now err on being sensitive. He is indeed a Mama’s boy and perhaps he will always be.
I never knew there was a mother in the world that wished not for this. I wish not for this, my Amos as the eternal Mama’s boy. Oh, love I have for him, infinite amounts, agape love as I never understood, but I long for him to find his wings and fly.
Mama’s boy. He is my ultimate admirer, his joy in seeing me is palpable and my heart flutters when he exclaims, “Mama.” How he completes me and our family and yet, he is our squeaky member and boy, is it hard. He is hard. At home or on the beach, he is fairly manageable but to venture into public, school, church, the grocery store, his gap widens significantly. The little boy that loves his mama and still looks like a baby is nearly impossible to predict and my arm is often numb from holding his clingy self. A mama’s boy.
My Amos is a growing armful and I wonder how I will continue to cuddle his growing self in my arms. Will he grow out of this need before his self outgrows me? The question of what if does not guide my thoughts but it does inundate my soul. I waiver between letting the waves of wondering wash over me vs. closing my mind to the thoughts of tomorrow. To ignore and pretend does nothing for my mother’s heart except put off the inevitable and so, I will feel and to feel means to take the gift of Amos, his whole self, the future unknown, today a Mama’s boy.