Running Scared

I have a confession to make. It might make me a bad mom, but it’s time to be honest. So here it goes. . .

I like it when my son gets scared.

I don’t, of course, like that he is afraid, but I like what happens when my little man is scared. A loud noise from construction outside or the siren of an emergency vehicle sends him running, as fast as his chubby two-year-old legs will take him, for the protection of my arms. He scrambles up into my lap and hides his face in my shoulder. He holds onto me with all his might. That is the part I like. Some days it is the only cuddle time I get from him.

Since the day the little guy started walking, he hasn’t stopped moving unless he was eating or sleeping. Occasionally he does come and give me a spontaneous hug or drooly kiss, but those moments are gone as quickly as they begin. A good scare can give me perhaps a full minute of soft, wonderful baby hugs. If he has a bad dream or other night-time fear, I might get 15 minutes before he either falls asleep or wakes up enough to decide it’s time to play. 15 minutes! It’s like heaven.

So. . .there it is. I enjoys those times when my son gets genuinely scared. Do you think it makes me a bad mom? Oh well. It could be worse. I could scare him on purpose.

Hmm. Now there’s an idea.