Who's Crying Now?

“I have held My peace a long time, I have been still and restrained Myself. Now I will cry like a woman in labor, I will pant and gasp at once." Isaiah 42:14

Today, he fought Beethoven's Fifth and the tried and true Hush Little Baby.
Yesterday, he fell victim to Appetite For Destruction's ripping guitar.
The day before, he squelched like a ravenous bird on the breast while I defended his Daddy's worth to my mom on speakerphone.

The well meaners whisper in my ear to let him cry it out. He's a wild horse that needs to be broken.

I remind them, a foal can fend for himself the moment he is born. My boy is defenseless.
And wound free. 

Unlike the rest of us who carry our open sores into every relationship and down every twisting road. Our family of origin baggage weighs us down and affects the sturdiness of the walls we build and the severity of the hearts we break.

I question at what point does a parent recklessly decide to project their unmet needs and longings onto the innocent? And at what cost do they gamble? Has their lack been restored by abandoning or abusing as well? 

I cry out.

I hear his whimper even in the silence and vow that healing begins. This is my family and my chance. The boundary lines once etched in sand are now drawn in permanent marker. 

And I scream, "not this child."

Let those around me twist in fury and writhe with shame if they second guess my merit as a mother or the caliber of my choices. The curtain will close and your loud words will fall on deaf ears.

He's succumbed to slumber at last, next to my heart, with hopefully a sound reassurance of his security in my love.

I whisper.