It was snowing yesterday and I was a little crabby about it, so as I sat in the Target parking lot before running in for a bridal shower gift I decided to lean my heated seat back, just calm down, and take a moment.
My mind started wandering about a little surprise gift I have been considering for my youngest son, who loves any living thing smaller than himself. Being as a baby is out of the question, a bunny seemed a viable option, especially with Easter coming up. Then I started to think about this young son of mine. He will be 13 in a couple of months. I wondered to myself if buying him a small little pet was a subconscious effort on my part to keep him young. Or worse, if I just felt the need to have something small to take care of.
The tears welled up as I was stretched out there in my little SUV. I quickly moved the seat back up and tried to get a grip on myself. This pre-menopausal stuff is a slippery slope. I can go from mad to nostalgic to sobbing all within 5 minutes. Oh, my poor family.
Then I thought of my older sons. Why am I so reluctant to let these younger ones grow up when I have been so pleased with my older boys? It has been fun to have older kids that are responsible adults. I actually love it. Why can't I release this death grip I seem to have on the last 2? Am I afraid of what life will be like later? Am I sad about fewer bear hugs? Yes on both counts, if I am being honest.
At the end of my pity party, I gathered myself, bought the bridal shower gift, and called on the little white bunny on the way home.