Sweet Moments

We all have "those" days. Days when we feel the thud of failure in our gut, days when we fear that, despite all our good intentions, something has gone horribly wrong. Days when that "awful badly brought up child" (the one kicking up a fuss in the biscuit aisle... the one who pinched another kid at crèche...) is none other than our own.

And yet, to offset those days, there are the great moments.
The great moments are those glimmers of hope, when something really sweet and unexpected happens, causing our parental hearts to swell with pride and flooding our tortured minds with reassurance: "you are doing something right!"

I had one of these great moments on Saturday.
BB and I are devoting a bit of time to our favourite activity: having a coffee, an orange juice and a cake in a café in the city*
We are sipping our drinks, chatting away companiably ("What's that, maman?" "It's a chair, honey." "Oh. What's that, maman?" "It's a bin, honey." "Oh. Where's Daddy, Maman?", etc., etc.) when suddenly I realise that I haven't eaten the tiny chocolate square served with my coffee.
Knowing how much BB will appreciate it, I say "Hey, honey, you can have my chocolate if you like...." and hand it over.
I fully expect him to wolf it down, pig-like, but instead, he looks at it carefully for a few seconds, then studiously breaks it in two and hands me one of the minuscule halves.
"Share, Maman.." he explains soberly, since I must look shocked.

I am dumbfounded.
Can this sweet, thoughtful, well-behaved, generous boy be my own?!
Sure looks like it.
I smile at him tenderly, feeling pretty damned chuffed. And then... well, then I just can't help it. I just HAVE to sneak a look around the café to see whether anyone else has witnessed this wonderful act.
To my dismay, not a single person is looking in our direction. I have no-one to exchange a smug smile with: no older lady who will chuckle and say something gratifying like - oh, I don't know - "My goodness! What a well-brought up little boy!"

Never mind. I know it happened, and like with so much else in life, I guess I'll just have to settle for the warmth of "personal satisfaction".
This will help me keep some sense of perspective next time he has a public crying fit or something... to which there will - inevitably - be at least 10 scowling witnesses...


* Yes, that's right: my boy is not quite 2 and a half, and already he is a little urbane café-goer: give it a few more months and I will also have myself a fashion-sensitive shopping buddy...