I'm that white girl that goes all Gangster whenever an old-school rap song with a great bass track comes on the radio. (I go full-out, too - especially if I'm in my truck. I roll down the windows, cock my shades, slouch in the driver's seat and blast it!) I've even downloaded my favorites on iTunes so I can play them round-robin to my heart's content. (Hubby always shakes his head as he heads to the garage, muttering about how his wife morphs into a club kid whenever the music's right.)
This past weekend I was making dinner, rocking out to the tunes blasting out of my computer when Eminem's "When I'm Gone" came on. If you listen to the opening verse of the song, it's beautiful. Poignant and especially true in my case. If you don't know, they go like this:
Have you ever loved someone so much you'd give an arm for
Not the expression, no. Literally give an arm for
When they know they're your heart
And you know you were their armor
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm her
I don't have a "her". I have "him's". But it doesn't matter. I know exactly where he's coming from.
I love my kids more than I ever thought humanly possible. It's almost panic-inducing when I worry about any number of imaginary complications befalling their sweet heads. (I'm an endless worrier) But I'm going to let you in on a little secret. It was not love at first sight with either of my boys. With my oldest, it was a complicated labor and delivery and I didn't get to see him for a while after he was born. They whisked him off to the medical team eagerly waiting to administer emergency care. I was happy he was finally here but I was in such a drugged haze, that nothing was really registering. (I don't even remember large parts of what happened.) When my youngest was born, it was a night-and-day different experience. I was actually waiting for that moment when the heavens would open and I would hear choirs of angels harmonizing in my ears and I would fall madly in love with my kid. My doctor held him up as soon as he was born. Nope. Nothing. I looked at my husband. His eyes were bright with unshed tears and his face was over-flowing with emotion. He was was in love. This was the little miracle that I'd cut out caffeine for, monitored my salt intake for and forced myself to drink gallons of water for. I was not in love. But I knew it would come.
I would die for my children. I would kill for them. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to keep them safe. My oldest knows that. My baby will learn. I taught my oldest this while walking through the parking lot at Target. He was a runner when he was a toddler and I always needed to maintain a firm grip on his hand. And I always made sure that he walked between me and the parked cars. (I would LOVE to see parking lots built that had safe pedestrian walking between the rows of parked cars. Think about how much better it would be to be able to safely get to and from your car without worrying about either you or your child succumbing to the tires of the oncoming SUV and becoming a brand-new speed bump. Then the only thing you'll need to worry about is backing out in front of someone who's paying more attention to their cell than they are to what's in front of them. But that's for another post.) When he was about six, he told me he was "big enough" to walk on the outside. I told him no. His feet grew roots and he planted himself behind a Buick. So, we stopped and had the following conversation:
Me: No
Him: Why not?
Me: Because if one of these people hits you with their car, I will pull them from it and beat them to death.
He laughed.
Me: Baby, I'm serious. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to protect you and if someone hurt you, I would kill them.
I wasn't sure how much of what I said sunk in, but I was serious. I reminded him constantly after that about the safety of walking on the inside. And he always did. And one day about a year later, as we were walking through the striped pedestrian part of the parking lot right in front of the store, I watched as someone ignored the posted stop signs (they're rather useless to begin with - people rarely even pause, let alone stop) and raced right toward where we were walking. My son grabbed my hand and started pulling as hard as he could.
"Hurry up, Mom", he said. "I don't want you to go to jail."
At least he understood. I might have taken it a little far. (Just a bit) But with my son, it doesn't sink in unless you're overly dramatic. But honestly, what wouldn't you do to protect your kids?
I want my boys to grow up secure in the knowledge I love them.. Knowing that I always have their backs. And that even if they do something I don't agree with, I'm always on their side. And that I'd "give an arm for" (or more), anything to keep them safe.
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