You’re supposed to love your kids. It’s part of the contract – spit-up, baby smiles, and buckets of love. It’s that love that keeps you from chucking colicky babies out the window or running for the border when you haven’t slept in months and you don’t think you can take another night of no sleep. And it’s that love that keeps you beaming at your offspring long after every other person in the room has moved from being bemused to being beyond irritated with their antics.
OK, fine, so I love my kids. But I also happen to really, really like them too.
My kids are funny, caring, smart, and compassionate. Hanging out with them is actually fun. They both have a great sense of humor, which makes it possible for us all to laugh and joke together. The hours of barely suppressed boredom that used to crawl by are finally taken up with crafts, projects, books, games, and outings that we all seem to enjoy.
Now that everyone is talking and communicating needs, wants, thoughts, and even silliness, I feel like we’ve hit another stage in family togetherness. It’s no longer just about caregiver/care-needer. There’s more of a give and take; it’s all more multi-directional.
I think we’re on the threshold of the infancy stage where everything is just about basic needs being met, and the stage that’s about taking care of people who have distinct personalities, thoughts, and aspirations.
We’re just getting to know those people, and so far, I truly love, and actually like, who they’re becoming.