He is my middle child. My strong-wiled bulldozer of a kid. My intense, imaginative, confrontational, stubborn as all heck, and just downright crazy some days three year old son.
He is a wild man.
He runs around the house, launching himself in to contorted positions as he flails into a heap on the floor, then jumps up and proudly identifies himself as a Transformer. He is Spiderman, Iron Man, Batman, and Obi Wan Kenobi. He is a Ninja Turtle, karate master, and fireman.
Someday when the cops ring my doorbell at 3 in the morning I will know exactly which child has prompted their little visit.
Oh, Micah. God has so much to teach me through you. Come to think of it, I know that if I were to go back through the past three and a half years of blogging and count the number of posts I have written about parenting that could be classified under the heading of
frustrations
freak-outs
or
I'm totally ready to quit this gig
yeah...I'd bet the farm on the fact that the majority of them would pertain to Mr. Micah.
Have you ever heard of The Five Love Languages? Evan and I read about them back in the early years of our marriage and it completely revolutionized our relationship. I tell you what, though. Learning how to apply those same principals to your children is HARD.
Especially when I am a pretty solid "Acts of Service" gal and my middle son is a full throttle "Physical Touch." I really can't stand Physical Touch people, as a rule. I like to have my little bubble of personal space left fully intact and I can totally do without all the touchy-touchy stuff.
So of course, I married a Physical Touch man and then gave birth to a Physical Touch son.
Figures.
And Micah isn't just about the hugs and kisses and stuff. Oh no. That's for amateurs. He shows love by smashing his forehead into my nose, sniffing my neck, licking my face, and tackling me when I'm trying to put my shoes on. Not gonna lie, it infuriates me a lot of the time and I really have a hard time remembering that when my boy is putting the hurt on me, he is actually trying to tell me he loves me.
In the midst of being such a bullheaded wrecking ball with a temper, Micah is also very sensitive to the power of words. I'm not proud of some of the things that have come flying out of my mouth when he has pooped in his pants and stuck his hand down the back of his shorts and then used his discovery as paint. It's easy to get caught up in the moment when he spits in my face while we are shopping and I have to put him in Time Out in the middle of the cosmetics aisle at Target.
When I get riled up and let the anger get the best of me, it comes spilling out in the form of words and tone that are anything but loving.
Then his lip quivers, he voice shrieks, his body shudders and his eyes squeeze shut and the tears start exploding forth. In between the sobs he pleads with me:
Mommy, stop yelling at me! Please.
It's a dagger to my heart, friends. It has happened more times than I care to admit and I know that it will likely continue to happen from time to time as my strong-willed son and I do battle over the years to come. But I'm working on it. And I absolutely adore the moment that comes when we both calm down and our blood pressure returns to a normal level. It's only then that we are able to apologize to one another and remember how much love really is there. I am truly enraptured by this child.
He is a force to be reckoned with. When I think about how his personality is going to translate into a pre-teen and then a teenager, all I can think is that I already feel genuine pity for the poor soul who tries to tell him he can't do something and gets in the way of something he is determined to do.
We have a lot of hard work ahead of us with our boy here. His physical strength is formidable and his anger is going to be a struggle for him, but I can already see what an incredible man he has the potential to become.
He's going to be a warrior.
It's our job to make sure he is equipped with the right armor and is fighting the battles that really matter in this world. My prayer daily is that God will grant me the patience I need for that day and to fill my heart with a desire to really embrace my children for who they are.
Craziness and all.
