Someone Else' Child

About a year ago, the Reynolds five somehow became the Reynolds six. I'm not really sure how it happened, although I am fully aware of where babies come from, and I am even less certain how long it will last. Little D made his first appearance last August. He is the son of Big Daddy's brother and has had a tough three years, to say the least. It's a strange feeling when to have responsibility for a stranger's child. A child you are completely unsure of the history or the future. A child who has the ability to melt your heart and make you think you are truly insane all in the same 24 hour period. You learn a lot about yourself, most of it not pleasant and you get a clear picture of who you really are, most of the time not the person you thought you were or want to be. You also learn a lot about the power of "mom and dad", for good or bad.

How is it that long before we make our appearance into the world, two people are able to screw us up. And when we do make our appearance, that power to wreak havoc grows exponentially. The best part by far is that once the havoc is there, it is almost inevitable that the havoc spreads wherever the child goes.

Whatever the reason, right now I am "Mom" to a three year old. An adorable three year old with chocolate button eyes. A three year old I did not grow or deliver, but who was delivered to me.

A three year old who has experienced hurt, more hurt than most will experience in their lifetime.

A three year old who cannot say that he is hungry or tired or cold, he has no idea those are things you don’t have to feel.

A three year old who has no idea what it feels like to have a “go to man”, someone who has your back no matter what. And because of the power of "mom and dad", he is unable to let me be that man.

A three year old who manipulates and controls at all cost, there is no cost too high. He has lost everything already.

A three year old who cannot look me in the eye without trembling and sobbing at the very request. I might see his fear and hurt and he, he might see my love.

A three year old who has no trouble looking me in the eye to lie. Who stares at me with cold dark eyes full of hatred and contempt. And when I see the intensity there I am relieved he can’t find the words to express what he feels. And I dread the day he does.

A three year old I am struggling to like. A three year old I fiercely love, and wish with all my heart that love would heal his.