Purpose of Protection

Although we still can´t decide whether his birthday was Tuesday or Wednesday, the celebration of two years of life was lively. A community and a group of friends made an appearance to remind Camilo how much he is cared for. He made a special effort to ignore his friends as he gobbled up snacks that he had anxiously not touched all day. He became the hungry caterpillar from his books and had to eat a nice green leaf the next day…then some more cake.

It seemed so opposite of how I sometimes view Camilo. Every week he heads to the same park and fearlessly climbs obstacles and thrusts himself down the slide. Too often I have found myself feeling shorter and shorter as I reach my hands up toward him and his climbing goes over my head. He has mastered many obstacles and he has also flown off and knocked his head on metal beams the few times mommy wasn´t quick enough to stop the reverberating sound of the triangle. He is my true daredevil and while I love the adventure, I fear it all the same.

But honestly he has hurt himself by jamming his fingers in the cabinet doors more times than from jumping off of something middle school grade. Pain is just a part of life. Inevitable.

As moms our desire and nature is to protect. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. But what are we wanting to protect them from? Pain? Or something deeper? And if we protect them from something like pain, are we protecting them for something? A deep greater purpose?

Every day in my life around me I protect Camilo from what I feel hurts him, while I allow what others believe will hurt him. I teach him to say ¨no¨ to keep trouble at bay and bat euro cakes and prawn crackers out of his hands. I whisk him away from the ten-second reel scrolls that last for minutes on repeat. And I do try to keep the stove lighter from becoming a pacifier. Where I am now, most of this does not make sense. The common question, why keep a child from something that makes him happy?

And yet, I give Camilo freedom. I encourage him to do what others may not accept. Eat with his own, often dirty, hands. He runs in the rain and plays with his excavator in the sand. He wears his shoes on the wrong feet and sings off tune in public places. I´m sure I don´t know what is always best for him, but others don´t either. And Camilo himself definitely doesn´t.

In it all, I see the full embodiment of a child. He is kind and cuddly, yet more daring and resilient than I will ever be. He is more loving than his finger paint hearts and more talkative than an audio book. He is more giving than the popsicle he always offers and more intelligent than his latest three word sentence. I don´t want my protection to keep him from developing all of these traits fully. To have even one damper feels like such a loss.

To think of him only as a strong slide enthusiast without the quiet party nibbler part of him would take away a true part of him. I am so thankful he is unafraid to express it all.