During his attempts to get my attention this morning, Liam used various methods such as seat-kicking, throwing, yelling, squealing, picking fights with Piper, and finally he reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out a new one.
"Mom, I don't love you anymore. You are not my favorite. I don't even love you."
We've all heard it, they don't mean it, they are just kids and don't understand what they are saying.
I know all these things.
But I also prayed for Liam's conception for a whole year, said goodbye to my hubby for a 12 month deployment (that turned into 13) when I was 7 months pregnant, labored and delivered my first son with my husband thousands of miles away in a combat zone, nursed him around the clock for 19 months (14 of which he never slept for more than three hours). I was afraid I could and would never be able to love him as much as I loved Piper, and was pleasantly surprised when the advice I received from my genius friend Brianne came true. Love wasn't divided, it was multiplied. He grew my heart two sizes bigger. I adore him.
He swung at me and hit me with the one thing that would pierce into my core and hurt me. And it did. I acted tough because I didn't want him to see that he got me, but it was hard. I love that kid. Even though he was up twice last night and then up at 5am, I love him.
Kids are stinkers. But you know, it made me wonder if that is what God feels like when we don't need Him and we have it all under control. I wonder if his throat catches and his eyes get hot and watery. Guess we're all stinkers.