He’ll see our broken relationship. This sweet boy of mine.
He’ll see misfired words and two people trying so hard not to take offense when none was intended.
He’ll hear us talk about heavy things that I *think* are going right over his head.
He’ll see me roll my eyes when I shouldn’t and lose a grip on my tone when I should have kept it.
He’ll see me overthink things and retreat into myself.
He’ll also see his dad give me a butterfly kiss in the kitchen so as not to mess up my lipstick before we go out.
He’ll see me hold the cheese on his dad’s taco because I want him to live a much longer life than his grandfather did.
Through his cracked doorway when he’s supposed to be sleeping, he’ll see that man of mine carry in unreasonably heavy boxes from Costco, so that I didn’t have to heft six cans of formula and two bags of frozen chicken breasts in addition to our three kids.
Without me ever realizing it, he’ll see us, over and over and over, open our hearts to each other, even though opening your heart is always a risk.
This little boy of mine will feel my arms pull him in, and he’ll hear me explain that people mean well but that we all make mistakes.
One hundred thousand times before he’s grown, he’ll hear me say, “We’re all just trying our best.”
And someday, when it’s his turn to rub shoulders in the night with the woman he loves—both of them unconsciously restless because it is the time the baby usually wakes up—he’ll know.
He’ll know that on the bad days, compatibility may feel illusive, but that on even worse days, the force of your commitment to each other makes everything a little easier.
He’ll know that people are broken, because his mom and dad were.
I wonder, sometimes, what he’ll take to his future relationship.
Then I look at my husband and myself, and I realize I already know.