Sam doesn't want to cuddle. He won't hug me. Right now he hates the world, including me.
Having a child that won't let you touch him is one of the most painful things ever. To want, desperately, to hold your child and not be able to, breaks you inside. He doesn't really hate me. I know that, but my heart aches to hold him and connect with him, somehow. I just want to wrap my arms around him and make him feel safe. He gets this way when his world is out of control. He pulls in like a snail or a hermit crab. I know it isn't me, but I can't help but feel slighted.
I love that boy.
Today I pushed it. I hugged him. He wasn't thrilled and he just stood with his arms by his side. He didn't smile, but he didn't cry. He didn't run either. I told him I loved him.
Tonight he placed his hand on my arm and just smiled at me. That was it, one quick moment. Just a blink of an eye. It was worth the risk this morning, just to have that moment tonight.