Last night, I'd put my son to bed, said goodnight 15 times and after several hugs and requests for water was finally released downstairs. And then, I heard this:
"I want May to be like me."
We talk about May, don't get me wrong. I never close the conversation down, but he is 4-years old. We talk on that level and until this moment, I'd never heard anything like this.
For him, May is May. It's not shocking, it just is. Maybe, as such, he actually deals with it better than I do. He was only two the first time he dragged me into the living room because he noticed May having a seizure. Kinda breaks your heart, moments like that.
But, this I'd never heard. I sat on the edge of his bed. "You want her to be like you, huh?"
"Yeah. I want her to play with me. I want her to walk and talk to me."
"You know," I said as gently as I could, "May will never be able to do that. She's very different to us, to everyone. She's like..."
"A baby," he said.
"Yes, like a baby and she will always be a baby. Even when she is 40-years old."
"What!" he laughed. "Even when she is 40?"
"Yes. She'll be all grown up, but she will still think and act like a baby. It's just the way she is. It's nobody's fault, it's just what it is. But, you know what is important?"
"That May-May is happy. She is loved. She lives in this lovely house with us, her family, and all her toys and we love her and we will always love her. And that's all she wants in life, and she's got it."
"May's the best. I love her. And, you're second best and then daddy is third best."
(I'm just relaying the facts, people. And yes, I passed on this entire conversation to our third place contestant.)