The exuberant smile that spread across your little boy face the moment you saw me come up the walkway, was enough to melt my heart like buttah! Your toothy grin and your squinty, happy eyes, seemed to say, "Mom! I'm so excited you are home!"
Or maybe it wasn't about me! Maybe you were just excited about the food!
Earlier that morning, I had rummaged through bare cupboards, searched empty drawers, and scoured a desolate pantry. My efforts produced one, lone granola bar found among the cobwebs. As I ripped the foil wrapper and handed you the bar, I said, "Cam, it looks like I need to go to the store. You stay here with Daddy. I'll go get food."
Goodness, you love to eat! Like a typical boy, you have a hearty appetite. (And a hollow leg.) You devour turkey sandwiches and pickle spears. You adore my spaghetti. You bounce happily on your toes when we make pizza. And just like your mama, you feel that one cupcake is never enough!
I suppose it has been that way from the beginning. You have always loved to eat...and I have always been your supplier! When you were a baby, I was the one who would primarily make and feed you your bottles. I prepared your rice cereal. I spoon fed you mushy, sweet potatoes. I cut up your bananas. As you grew, I helped you open your string cheese. I helped you put the teeny tiny straw into the teeny tiny hole of your juice box.
Sometimes, I worry about what it will be like to feed you as a teenager. I grew up with brothers who were never full. I imagine you trudging into the house on your big, sneaker-clad feet, with a backpack slung over your shoulder. Before you even take off your jacket you are already asking me, "What is there to eat?," or, "What can I eat?," or, "What do we have to eat?," or, "Where's the beef?"
I frequently joke with your dad about your passions for grub. I say, "I know that boy loves me, but only for the food!"
If that's true for right now, little man, that is okay. (I think you love me for putting bubble bath in your tub water, too!) Perhaps there will come a time--later in life, during the tumultuous, lumpy and bumpy, adolescent years--when you do, in fact, only love me for the food. That is okay as well. You are my son, and I would have you know and remember this: I will love YOU forever. And...
I promise to always feed you!
Your "cookin' in the kitchen" mama