As I checked Luke’s blood sugar tonight, sitting on his bed in the dark squeezing a drop from his finger, I was overcome with both a roaring love and a blistering sadness. Images of his fantastic smile, enthusiastically loud storytelling, gentle and loving pats on my back, careful and imaginative drawing–all the things that endear him to me–conflicted wildly with the memories of the many times I have caused him pain and made him bleed. Days and nights just like this one.
I kissed his small, bleeding finger. And then kissed his cheeks, and nose, and forehead, and rumpled his hair, until he wriggled away in his sleep, completely, blissfully unaware of my torrent of emotion. Ah, such is parenting.