A Prayer for Jacob

Lord, day in and day out, you see me with this child. You watch me fumble, you hear me shout too much. You see us curled up on the couch with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and the laptop too often. You see me cut up the same grapes and hot dogs for lunch. You see the tantrums - and they aren't just his.

Help me know that I have made an acceptable choice for this little boy, and reassure me when I see so much of myself in him. Lord, you know I didn't put my career on hold because I thought I could do this better than the fine folks he enjoyed so much time with before. Calm my fear that his days would be better spent with people besides me.  Remind me that he is not his sister - and that's okay. When things that worked with her at this age fall flat with him, it's just because he's a different child in a different situation, not because I am somehow inadequate.

Let me cherish every time he crawls into my lap, let me joyfully kiss every boo-boo - because I know how fleeting these days are, and I can feel them slipping through my fingers already.When he chooses plastic novelty coconuts from the dollar store as his most cherished toy of the moment, let me revel in that uniqueness - and let me remember it so I can tell everyone about it for a long time, too. Let me always remember how sensitive he is, and may I never fall into the "raising boys" trap of "toughening" him up. He is just as perfect when he is covering his ears because the mixer is too loud as he is when he is pounding on bookshelves with his toy hammer. Help me stop before I yell, because I know the hurt in his eyes when I do, and I don't want to inflict it anymore, even if he DID scratch up the wall with a Matchbox car YET AGAIN.

Grant me the patience to build train tracks that run the entire length of the house. Help me not throw the remote control at the television on the 500th viewing of Mickey's Space Adventure. Let me see past that obnoxious squawking noise he makes when he's frustrated to the problem underneath, and help me to work through it with him with patience - even if he's squawking about about some lost Playmobil piece for the 17th time in an hour. And Lord, please let the purple play dough come out of the area rug. Please.