It's no secret that Ouro Branco is my "tough one."
He's the one who exhausts me. The one I get annoyed with the most. The one who always gets to go on "dates with Dad," simply because I need a break.
Is it because he's three? Or is it just the way he is? My memory of Little Prince at this age is fading ....
He drives me nuts a good portion of the time.
This fills me with guilt.
I feel like less of a mother because of these sometimes terrible, horrible, no-good very-bad feelings I have towards him. As if my love were conditional. (Is it?) Requiring. (Do I?)
Look what happened to Joseph when his father started comparing him to his brothers.
I love this baby boy. Oh, I love him fiercely. I love him every ounce as much as my other two. Sometimes, because I have to work harder at it, it feels like more. And it hurts me when others complain about him or have a hard time with him. Even though I feel the same way.
And he loves me. Oh, he loves me. He wants every minute to hug me, to hang on me. To beg me to play with him "just five more minutes." To sit next to me and just be with me. I don't deserve this beautiful boy.
So we've been investigating his behavior lately. Because I've known for a while that something just isn't quite right.
And guess what.
He is partially deaf.
His ears are so filled with fluid that everything he hears sounds like it's underwater. Hence, speech impediments. Hence, frustration. Hence, sensitivity and quick anger.
I feel ... relieved. Validated. To know that there really is a problem. That it's a fixable problem. That he can get help and things are looking up.
And I feel ... remorse. For yelling at him when he didn't respond the first time. For losing it when I had to repeat something the tenth time. For gritting my teeth every time he freaked out about something he probably couldn't understand.
Because I love this boy. I love him so. I am his mother.
And I'm so glad he's mine.