When he was young, I was.
I had my son at the tender age of 18. Slightly by an oops and slightly by a oh my... There was no doubt in my mind regarding this child of mine. Scared hopelessly beyond belief, I entered motherhood. For the two years, I had his father holding my hand. Telling me along. Letting me know when I was doing right or wrong. But then it happened, and I was alone with him. Not completely alone, I still lean on his father for certain things. It was horrible, I was horrible.
Now... is a different story.
My little boy getting so big, and he's so bright. His words, his actions, his looks, when he sleeps. It scares me that my little boy is going to no longer my little boy. In a year he's going to into school...
Now... I can't live without him.I work a full time job with odd hours, his dad takes him when I can't. When I can, I love it. No matter who's around or what were doing, I love it. I try to come up with as much stuff to do with this little man. What he can do and learn.
I finally get down and play with him, more than I have his tiny 3 years of life. I build castles, he builds me our home. We draw pictures of kitty and fire trucks and little men. We go for walks and get juice whenever the weather is okay. We build snowmen and forts. Hide when the birdies visit. We take drives, and look at the different buildings next to the road. Red one. Blue one. Pink one. We build forts in the middle of the living room, put a TV in there and watch a movie. We hide under the covers and tell each other the "monster" is having a snack.
Now, I'm not afraid. I'm not fearful of this beautiful time with my son. For this time, is the greatest.