Every day with my son is a beautiful day. That's not just lip service, either. I mean that down to my depths. His presence is sunshine, his smile is paradise. But...
Some days are long, and some days are hard. Some days are both.
And at the end of the day, I am tired to the bone. I am tired from wrestling 18 lbs of pure energy. 18 lbs of little boy who (even though he can't crawl yet) is convinced that he can run - or even fly. 18 lbs of opinion and temperament and unvoiced insistence that "Mama, I can do it MYSELF!" (and if you think a six month old can't insist something like that, you should see the way he shoves my hands away when I try to hold on to him).
Oh, but what joy!
Joy because that exhaustion means that I have a little boy who is full of energy and activity. Who is already a ball of independence and confidence and self worth. That 18 lbs I wrestle? That's 18 lbs of health and vigor and excitement about the world - HIS world.
Oh, little boy. I can tell you now, it wouldn't surprise this mama one bit if you did learn how to fly.