Mommy magic

Occasionally, when I'm tired of Jack constantly demanding that I hold him or play with him or pay attention to him, I have to remind myself that he's not always going to want me around. The day will come, and all to soon, when my attentions and my presence not only won't be wanted but will be actively rebuffed. So I really need to cherish this time when being Jack's Mommy means being his best friend, his favorite toy, his main source of comfort, his constant companion.

One of the things I find so moving is his total trust that I will be able to make almost everything better. When he gets frustrated and needs help, he'll tell me, "Mommy fix it!" with the firm belief that I will indeed be able to do just that. No matter what it is. Even if what he wants to do defies the laws of physics or entertainment copyrights. But at this age, he still thinks that, even though he can't do something, Mommy can do it. It's a tough thing to live up to, and it's a little heart-breaking any time I have to tell him, "No, Jack, Mommy can't actually make the glass jar stick to the wall by itself" or "No, Jack, Mommy can't make Elmo and Winnie the Pooh be in the same movie together."

He also doesn't quite yet grasp the concept of cause and effect, and this manifests itself in surprisingly adorable ways. For example, Jack absolutely hates having the sun in his eyes. If we are driving in the car and the sun is low in the sky and in his face, he screams as if he's being tortured.

"No sun! No sun!" he shrieks.

One day when this happened, I saw that we would soon be rounding a curve and heading into a shaded area of the freeway. So I told him, "Mommy will sing the ABCs, and by the time the song is over, there won't be any more sun in your eyes." I sang it, and by the end of the song, we were in the shade.

Now, Jack thinks the alphabet song is simply magic, because obviously it was the song that made the sun go away. Whenever he encounters any situation he doesn't like - especially having the sun in his eyes - he'll start begging, "ABCs! ABCs!"

Of course, not everything unpleasant ends in the time it takes to sing the alphabet. There isn't always a shaded area just around the bend. But we keep singing it over and over until the shade finally does come or the sun goes behind a cloud. Or he falls asleep (which truly does require some magic).

If Mommy really could fix everything, I'd sing the alphabet song as long as it took to put off the day when he finally loses his faith in the magic of the ABCs and his belief that his Mommy can do anything.