A few weeks ago Arlo discovered that Oma is my mom. He was distraught. That meant that I didn't live with my mom, which meant one day he wouldn't live with his.
He sometimes suggests that he will stop eating so he will stop growing. He is happy to stay my little boy forever.
Yesterday, on the day we celebrated his birthday, which happened to be one day late, when I retrieved him from nursery, his beautiful face lit up with joy. I was back. He hugged my leg "Oh mom. I just love you so much."
We have a game. The sort of game that I, his mom, am probably the only one to appreciate. Sometimes when I'm overcome with my love for my third child, and find myself gritting my teeth for reasons I don't understand, I tell him in an overly dramatic 1940's radio voice, "Oh no. It's happening. I love you too much." He hugs me and responds, "Only love me one."
It doesn't feel like I had him yesterday. It feels like four years ago. Unfortunately, years just aren't that long.
Four years ago I was almost the very same, but Arlo, he was something all together different.