As I've touched on in previous posts, I have often worried that my divorce was going to impact my boys in a negative way. I worried they would grow up to have more problems as a result of it. I worried they would not be good communicators. I worried they would feel insecure or have doubts about how loved they were. I did the best I could to raise them, but I'm not going to lie, I still worried from time to time. It's not like anything had happened to make me worry, I just felt like perhaps I had failed them by getting a divorce (not that it was my choice!) Still, I felt it. It wasn't keeping me up at night and I was still enjoying my time with them, but that fear was always there somewhere, in the back of my head. And then the other night, the sweetest, most loving gesture occurred. I was putting my boys to bed and my youngest wanted water. I asked my oldest if he too wanted water and he said no. So, I carried my youngest out to the kitchen on my hip and started to get the sippy cup out of the drawer. That's when it happened. My oldest came out after me and said:
I'll get it, Mom. Your hands are full.
No, I am not making this up. He really saw that I did indeed have my hands full with his younger brother and stepped in to help. Was he just wanting to assert himself more now that he knew how to do things? Did he recognize how much I was doing all by myself? I wasn't sure. And to be honest, it didn't really matter. At age 3, he was already identifying how he could help. He had a heart of gold. Why in the world was I worried? My boys would be fine. They would be better than fine. They would be great.
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