Bubby woke up early from his nap the other day crying. He was sitting in his crib, tears pouring down his face, chin quivering. He kept crying even when I took him out and held him, changed his diaper, held him some more. I assume he had a bad dream. Watching your toddler wake up from a bad dream is much worse than having one yourself. How do you explain a bad dream to someone who is still learning so much about the real world around him?
This is not in the parenting books I read.
So I held him with his head against my shoulder, singing and praying softly, rubbing my hand over his blond hair as if doing so would somehow remove whatever was upsetting him. And it eventually did.
As I snuggled my son on the couch, long skinny legs and barefeet spawled in his attempt to get comfy, I felt something I get to experience every now and then on this journey called motherhood. I felt God's emotions - His heart that breaks when mine is breaking, His desire to do what is good for me, the overwhelming love He has for me just because I am His. As I held my little boy for a moment, I also was reminded that I am held.