Not that my heart is wounded very often, but sometimes it is and then there is this little boy with his bright eyes and his trying-to-be-red hair smiling down at me and kissing me and hugging away all my unseen demons.
Like this morning when I woke up groggy and hurting. I'd had the most horrible dream about Ralexwin not loving me and locking me in my house and hiding my keys so I couldn't run away. I was feeling dreadfully betrayed when I opened my eyes to the sound of that same husband rummaging around for his clothes. So I rolled back over and went back to sleep, wishing the day away.
Some time later the bedroom light flips on and I feel the bed shift as a body climbs on.
"Mommy, it's mo'ning. Time to wake up!" Then the Mischievite's arms are draped around my chest, his hands pressed to my cheeks and his kisses are rained down upon my face. "Mo'ning Mommy!"
All sorrow from my lingering dream fled in those sweet, gentle caresses. My heart melted into a pile of mush at the base of my spine before reforming as a burning inferno of love.
The Balm of Gilead; that's what the Mischievite is to me.
Granted by the end of the day I'll be hollering at him for drawing all over his baby sister's face or for running outside in only his underwear, but in those moments when I seem to need the most love he is always there. Always close and always ready to love me entirely and without reserve.
I hope he never grows out of it, because the more I see it in him the more I realize he will one day make some special girl the queen of the world.