It's a rough morning for me. My face is still raw from salty tears and my eyes need a long session with some cucumbers. Maybe they would take the puffiness away. I didn't sleep well last night, just so you know. There was lots of tossing and turning. Rest was nowhere to be found.
Last night I cursed God and humanity and all the stars in the sky. I'm strong. I've been gorilla strong before. I've held my breath when life was so low I felt the weight of the oceans on my soul. I've not broken until last night. But you broke me.
I know you're a kid. I know you don't see through my older, wiser eyes. I get that. I can forgive a little bit because you've not lived as much as I have just yet. But we know the difference between right and wrong even at your tender, single-digit age. Belittling my child doesn't make you much in my book. You might get a few laughs from the other kids. You might feel superior for a fleeting moment. But...It does not make you shit. It makes you a bully. It makes you hurtful and mean and little. Yes, even at your age.
My child is not weak or weird. He is smart. He is witty. He is an old soul who has walked this Earth before. He has amazing eye-hand coordination. He can put both of his legs behind his head and the same time, and he is a member of the Monkey Club for climbing the rope in the gym. He has abs of steel and the most beautiful green/gray/blue eyes. They change colors, you know. He's a charmer with the ladies. He can hold an intelligent conversation with adults. He is friendly to strangers and is fearless. He was born different from you, but he is so much more than what you see. He is certainly not weak or weird. And he is mine.
I won't let you turn the sweet child I carried in my belly for nine months into a sullen, depressed young man who shuts out the world. I won't let you ruin his childhood. You will not take from him any more than has already been taken. You will not break us.
A little boy's mom