Boo has been writing little notes. To friends, our Pastor, his dad...to me. He'll try to talk to me when I'm ...um...indisposed. When I ask him for privacy, I'll hear his footsteps fall away. Then return. Then a slip of paper get shoved under the door.
As an Only, he is always seeking for me to be his friend. To play Firehouse with him. To play Sorry. To play anything. Just to keep him company.
It's easy to spoil him because he is an Only. I may spoil him materially, but I try to keep things in perspective for him; often making him work for the toy. I try harder not to spoil him emotionally. I baby him because I think he needs it. I want to snuggle, buggle, smooch and knooch him as much as possible so that he doesn't feel needy when he's grown. Be filled to over flowing. Saturated. With a deep-seeded sadness that I'm not sure will ever go away, I am trying to be the fertile soil of security for him. But demands and manipulations and whines? No way. No room for that here. Zero tolerance policy.
I try not to give into his demands and make sure he respects that I have my own life and will play with him when I can. But then I get distracted. By the computer. Laundry. The messy room. Anything. Because I don't really like to play. I'm a serious sort. But then a sad little note like this will wake me up:
I got the message, buddy.