When The Momma talks about my little girl days, she always says that I was her little friend, her companion, her best buddy. I remember the days when we’d go grocery shopping & my saddle shoes would swing under the seat while I ate a Happy Meal after preschool. She says that when her momma was still alive, the three of us spent every afternoon together – I don’t remember those days well, but I do miss my grandmother & I do think that it was the start of the friendship I share with my mother today.
I’ve heard arguments for & against a child being a mother’s best friend & I do believe that until adulthood, the child should not be the BFF of the mother. In my life, that role is specifically held for someone who a) enjoys coffee b) has read 50 Shades of Grey or something similar & c) has seen me piss-ass drunk.
My child has fills none of those requirements, thank God.
But I know what my mother means when she says I was her best little buddy because Harrison is my best little buddy.
The afternoons when we’re together are my favorites. When we’re driving to the park & the windows are down & he’s chatting up a storm about the trucks we see, or when I teach him the birdie song in the car while we wait for his daddy, or when we’re playing parking garage & I put a car in diagonal & tell him that it’s 5pm on Valentine’s Day & there’s always going to be that prick that’s in too big of a hurry to stay between several feet of lines. I head to the grocery store & I ask Harry if he wants to go with me because truly, I love his company when I’m walking the aisles. Or how I don’t mind going to birthday parties with him or taking him to the park or going for a quick treat of frozen yogurt because as long as he’s not having an asshole toddler day, it’s almost guaranteed to be a good time between us.
This weekend, I took Harrison to a classmate’s birthday party & there was this huge tube slide at the top of a mini-mountain & Harry so desperately wanted to go on it. So I hitched up my skinny jeans & grabbed a burlap sack. Moments later with him on my lap & the ripples in the tube threatening my bladder, we zoomed down the dark tunnel & I’m not sure which of us laughed harder.
He makes the best parts of me come out & I hope I do the same for him & I think that’s just what friends do.