When my eldest niece was a little girl I would read her a bed time story called Love You Forever. She would sit there joyfully, her smiling face flitting from the pictures in the book to my face. She was waiting for the moment when I would tear up.
It’s the story of a baby who grows up. Every night his mother rocks him in her arms singing a song to him about loving him forever. As the boy grows up his mother peeks in on him in his sleep, takes him in her arms and sings the song. He gets married, she drives to his house at night, climbs in the window and sings to him. Eventually she is too old and frail and you see the son sitting in a rocking chair, holding her and singing the song to her. How sweet is that?
At some point during my courtship of my husband the story went from being sweet to kind of creepy. This sweet, loving mother was now giving me the heebie geebies. I mean, there comes a point as a mother when you have to let go. It seems to me that your child sharing his bed with a woman would be a good indicator of that point.
Mothers do not climb through that window, not even metaphorically.
Last night as I was putting my daughter to bed she gave me a kiss and said, “What would this family do without you?”
I melted a little at the time, but now I’m only afraid of becoming the creepy lady from the story. Hopefully my fear of heights and a modicum of sanity will keep me away from the windows.