Lonely

Sammy: Mommy, I'm lonely when you're downstairs and I'm upstairs.
Me: I'm sorry, bud, but you need to clean up. Daddy will be home soon and you need to go upstairs and clean up. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere.
Sammy, snuggling on my lap: But I'm lonely!
Me: Honey, I'm sorry. Sometimes you're going to be lonely. Sometimes I'm lonely. Sometimes Daddy's lonely. You need to learn how to deal with it because you have us and Momo and you can pray and all of those things can help you when you start to feel lonely.

Sammy then bursts into tears. Not small ones, either, but big, ugly cry sobbing where he can't be consoled and buries his head harder into my chest.

Me: Baby, what's wrong? Why are you crying so hard?
Sammy: Because when you were just talking it made me sad!
Me: What did I say that made you so sad?
Sammy: Everything about being lonely! (Sob, sob, sob)

Oh. Man. You sometimes think, after leaving certain stages, that parenting, while not getting easier, will become more sane. Or logical. But nope. Just like that, nothing makes sense again. Just as you are congratulating yourself for ushering your kid into kidhood and our of toddlerhood, you find yourself rocking your four foot five year old, trying to ease his tears and wondering how on earth you manage this since you are a 37 year old sometimes sad and lonely one yourself.

A half an hour later, dinner is done. Dad has given his two cents and Sammy is snuggled into his bed, asleep, two seconds after his head hits his pillow. And the freak out, at least, makes a little sense, if this stage still does not.


(are you trying to be lonely, paul weller)