Sweaty Flowers

This is a mushy, drippy, mom-soaked blog-post about my boy. Read at your own risk.
Each one of my children have their own corner of my heart that they alone own.
But my youngest son has always held a special, different place there. From the time he was born I saw something different in him. He has always loved unconditionally. He has always loved me unconditionally. From the time he could walk, it was always his unconscious habit to bring me flowers. I honestly don't think that as a toddler, he ever really thought "I should give mom flowers." I think it's always been an unconscious gesture of happiness, goodness, and love.
Imagine little grubby fingers clutching stolen weeds from a neighbors yard, or our yard, loving offered up to me. Imagine long spring and summer days spent outside doing the mysterious running around that boys do... he would occasionally pop inside with a purple or yellow or white offering.
When he was old enough to walk home from school, I knew that Spring had officially arrived by the bouquets that would appear in his hands when he walked in the door. Not every day, but often enough. I know that he would wait anxiously for the lilacs that grow wild at the top of the street to bloom...then I would receive those until they were gone.
Twice in the past month I have once again received random offerings of flowers from my boy. Today I came home to a pot of lovely summer colored store-packaged blooms. Just because.
He probably has no idea that I was imagining a chubby, grubby little hand with squished weeds in it....these flowers mean just as much as those long-ago offered ones. They're from the same boy, now a man, who loves his mommy unconditionally.
I'm sure he doesn't know that I cherish each and every day...each and every minute that I have him HERE with me...I'm already consciously, and unconsciously, counting down the days until he leaves me. Roughly 608 days from now. He's been mine alone for roughly 6,325 days....I'm not done with him yet. I still feel like there is so much left to teach him, to talk about, to DO. And, I imagine, still a few bouquets yet to be offered, and received. Maybe one of them will be sweaty and wilted....
I warned you. And, yes, he is going to make some lucky girl very, very happy someday.