For as rough and tumble as he can be, Harrison always seems to want to be quite close quite often. When I curl up on the couch to watch PBS with him, he wants to be sitting on top of me and my blankets. When I give him time to play CampFire, he wants me to play with him, or better yet, he just wants to play while sitting in my lap. Yesterday, I was sitting on the floor with Raegan while he played Angry Birds and before I knew it, he was climbing up, over, and through my arms that were resting on my bent knees, pile driving his way into my space.
Something I read the other day talked about boys and their tackling hugs and overenthusiastic physical contact and I thought, “Oh, my! Oh, yes!” That’s my boy! As a little, little one, he was always giving big hugs to other kids. Now he is the kid who comes running at 100 mph to wrap his arms around my legs for a squeeze (and does the same thing to his dad and his grandparents). This is all well and good except it usually means his big ol’ noggin is usually crashing into my hip or stomach at the same time. But he means well and I know these moments aren’t going to last forever, as the book Let Me Hold You Longer reminds me.
I can’t remember now if my mom gave me this book before or after Raegan was born, but I do remember the first time I read it. I sobbed and sobbed and could hardly read the type by the time I got to the last page. The whole concept is the story of a mother watching her little boy who grows up oh so quickly, and her wishes to hold him longer each step of the way. Sheesh. I can’t even write about it without getting misty-eyed because it is so stinking true. How did my little 7 lb. 5 oz. baby boy suddenly become a preschooler who loves solving mysteries and playing Angry Birds?!
So lately I’ve been embracing all of those too hard, too fast embraces from Harrison. Like I told Ben last night, it’s likely that in ten years or less, HD isn’t going to want to be anywhere near me, so I might as well take advantage of every time he does right now. Truth is, I love that I am someone he wants to be near. I don’t mind the often sticky and often hot little hands that sit on mine when I read to him or play CampFire with him, or the not-so-little feet that wiggle in next to me when we sit on the couch. It doesn’t matter how big he gets; he will always be my sweet baby boy and I will always be asking for one more (tackling) hug.