Skip to main content

Speaking His Language

I've mentioned before that my kids have different and distinct love languages.  Despite my intentions to read the book "5 Love Languages" I have not.  I do know the basic premise of the book (thanks to my mother) and can identify the tendencies in both Adam and I and our kids.  Paige made it clear early on that she was a quality time kid.  Sometime last year, we realized that Brooklyn's dependence on us is rooted in a need for service.  We speak to her through our acts of service.  Last week, it dawned on me that Emerson is a physical touch kid.  Go figure.  Like father like son. 

Every night, Emerson insists that I lay with him in bed while we read.  If I hurry bedtime, he cries for me to "hold him".  In the grocery store, he insists that I carry him while I push the cart (Which is nearly impossible when the cart is full and the aisles are crowded.)  This has lead to many a screaming fit.  He doesn't handle it well either.   The more I think, the more obvious it becomes that this kid thrives on physical touch.

The problem: his mama is NOT a touch kind of girl.  I admit this to you at the risk of sounding cold, harsh, and rigid because it's the truth.  Oh, I love to squeeze my babies.  I love to kiss them over and over until they fall to the ground giggling.  I love to cuddle them while we read a book or stroke their hair while talking about their day, but then I'm done.  I didn't carry my babies in slings against me, I put them in their seats.  I didn't hold my babies while they slept, I put them in their beds.  I love my kids, but I need my space.

Emerson does not feel the same.  There is never enough "holding" for him.  He wants me to be at his side all day long.  He follows me around the house crying for me to hold him more.  His love tank is going to be a hard one for me to fill.  I don't know if my little three year old boy will always need his mama's touch as much as he does today, but I do know that I wouldn't want anyone else filling him up.  These are LONG Chronos days, but I'm trusting that there will be Kairos moments that make it all worth the while.

Comments

  1. One of the moms I admire the most felt the same way toward her "clingy" child. She had four stair-step kids and just had a hard time with all the touchiness of the one child. So even though I'm a physical touch girl, I totally get your perspective and I don't think you sound cold or harsh. I'm going to be the mom that will drive my kids crazy in a few years when they don't want me to touch them and I can't keep my hands off.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

They Speak

I have a  friend  who does a weekly post of the crazy things her kids say.  While I am not committing to do this on a regular basis, my little's have had quite a few good ones lately.  Maybe this will add a little sunshine to a rainy day. Me: Are you excited to go to the beach next week? Brooklyn: No. Me: Why not? Brooklyn: The crabs. (Leaving the park in a rush after it started raining) Paige: Mom, is it hard to take care of three kids? Me: Why?  Does it look hard? Paige: No. Emerson: Me a boy. Me: What is mommy? Emerson: Mommy a girl. Me: What is Daddy? Emerson: Daddy a monkey! (Brooklyn was watching me clean out the seeds of a cantaloupe) Brooklyn: Ew! That is a gross job!  Will I have to do that when I'm a mom? If she only knew the grossness that lay ahead!

Changed

I suck at prayer.  If you need someone to pray for you, I'm probably not your girl.  Sure, I'll say I'll do it.  I'll even have good intentions to get it done.  But I won't.  The light will turn green, the kids will yell, the phone will ring and I will forget.  Every time.  My personal prayer life isn't much better.  It's embarrassing to say, but I'm too rushed, tired, and distracted.  The thought of prayer seldom crosses my mind. Apparently, God has been noticing.  In the past few months I have found myself on the outskirts of situation after situation that lead me straight to my knees.  Not a passing "Please God work in that situation" way, but a "My words have run dry and still I pray" kind of way.  I have prayed myself to sleep and then awoken with an urgency to pray again.  I have wept as I pleaded with God to work miracles.  I have prayed that God's hand would be seen and I have prayed that Satan's lies would ...

So Many Thoughts....

I'm not sure if I should laugh, cry, call a counselor, or buy another parenting book.