I have no favourites. The parental mantra. And for the most part, it’s true.

But in the deepest, darkest place alone in the night, or here announcing throughout the blogosphere- assuming anyone’s reading, upon honest reflection, I have to admit it’s the one that drives me the craziest, that holds perhaps the softest spot in my heart.

He is my second child. My second son. My middle child. The child for whom, out of each of them, inspires my greatest cause for concern. Emotional. Energetic. Creative. Rebellious. He challenges me. He is bold. He’s brazen. He’s beginning to blatantly disobey me and, recently taunting me with his disregard. Laughing at me as I scold. Giggling, albeit nervously, but giggling nevertheless, as I get up in his precious, beautiful little face and demand his submission. It is immediately apparent he will not and his outright disobedience leaves me fucking unhinged. And fearful. For if he feels he can pull this off at six… how does this all go down when he’s sixteen…?

I hold him by his slender shoulders. Space shrinking to mere centimetres between our faces. Our eyes. I can see the tease of a smile glitter in their mischievious depths. I grit my teeth. I feel my nostrils expand for air. I can see his intent. And it will not be that which he knows I am requiring of him. I have no control over the situation. I don’t know to laugh or cry. When I turn my back, exasperated, I do both. I want him just to do what I ask. What I am now demanding- irate. Yelling. To absolutely no frigging avail. He’s proving stronger in his resolve than I.

I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Do.

But in the end. I submit. In the end all I can do is gather up his slim, strong little self, whether he wants to in that moment or not.  Within seconds I feel him soften- surrender into my arms. I squeeze hard. Wringing all the frustration and what’s left of resolve from both of us. I just want to absorb him back into me, where he won’t hurt. Won’t feel overlooked. Won’t feel lost, invisible, between the responsible ahead and the beautiful behind.

I don’t know if it’s his capacity to push me away that creates a bigger space for him in my heart… or if it’s the fact I know he has to fight harder to make himself heard… understood… known.

And upon reflection here, perhaps it’s not the extra space in my heart that he needs. It’s extra time, attention and love shown before the shit hits the fan.

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