Two stories about our little man J….

Story #1: About four weeks ago we came back from our visa run in S’pore. We had spent a marvellous four days and three nights in the beautiful city-state going to the zoo and parks and other such things. And, as per usual, because of the need to stay in a hotel, J had spent those 4D3N in a crib very close to us. While we all love our own space and bedrooms equally, you quickly get used to having an extra person around.

After our time away, we were anxious to sleep in our respective rooms. So we did bath time, reading book time, hugs and kisses goodnight, and Husband set J down in his bed. Kid was so exhausted from travels that he konked out before hitting the mattress. Sweet sleep, Baby!

Just a couple of hours later we had settled in to bed ourselves and just about passed in to restfulness when J woke up crying. It wasn’t his usual “I’m just turning over and happened to move the wrong way” cry but rather, he was inconsolable. Making sure he was okay, we come to realize that he was scared. He didn’t want to be in his room but desperately wanted to sleep. So, I brought him in bed with us, he snuggled super close, and while gently touching his daddy’s arm, he fell asleep with us.

He was asleep for a couple of hours when he woke up, woke me up, and insisted on going back to his room. He has a way of telling me this and I realized that even though he enjoyed the comfort and safety of Momma & Daddio, he mustered up enough courage to go back to his own room, his own bed, and went to sleep again. He found his courage and then conquered that night for the win!

Story #2:  Today J and I were waiting for Daddy to come home from a meeting, so we were doing our usual playing on the floor. Kid has finally decided that walking is more efficient than crawling so he has been sauntering around the house.

Between our family room and kitchen there is a slight lift in the floor; about an inch. So to our little monster, that must feel like such a step. Today he attempted walking to the kitchen and missed the idea of lifting his little bear foot to get up just that littlest amount. What happens? It was inevitable! He face planted on the hard tile while bumping his teeth. Yikes, even I cringed.

So, doing what is right and necessary, I picked up the little kid, made sure there was no blood or bruises or bumps, and with kisses and hugs I sealed in my love for him and his okay-ness. But J did the funniest, amazing-est thing.

Tears streaming down his face, little boo-hoo’s still coming from him, he slipped from my Momma Bear grip and walked right back to the kitchen; this time lifting his feet and going in to find his blankie for more consolation. Fierce courage!

I want to be like my kid, my 14-month old kid, who decided that through fear, hurt, stumbling, he was still able to get up, take on, overcome what was hindering him. Thanks for the lesson kid. xo

• J