Mom, what's my job?

My son's past life, taking forever to form an opinion, addicted to the New's cycle, a new planner cover and finding one's job.

I was putting my son to bed for the third time that night. He was battling to find any excuse to keep me in his room. No matter how tired his eyes looked, he simply didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted me to tell him another story about the dinosaur-monster that he says lives in his room and is his friend. He wanted more cuddles. So I did exactly all of that. As soon as I noticed his breathing was deeper (which usually means he’s asleep), I began the silent walk towards the door. He suddenly lifted his head and screamed, “Oh! Mommy, one last thing, what’s my job?”

I burst into tears of laughter and something else I have not yet been able to decipher. “Your job is to be a child. To play, have fun… To listen to mommy and daddy… That’s your job, for now,” I whispered to him.

I kissed him one last time and closed the door behind me. I had tears in my eyes. That morning, my son had been asking my husband, his dad, what his job was. My heart started pounding. This is it. My son is growing up. And I’m getting old. And it’s so strange to understand what one’s job is. Not professionally, but spiritually. Or emotionally. How does one get to a satisfactory answer to that kind of question?

The way the mind of a toddler works… It’ll never not fascinate me.

I need a lot of time to form my opinion on something, especially when it comes to a piece of art. I could join Goodreads or Letterbox and start rating books and films. I could do that. But I think I could only rate books and films I’ve read and watched at least ten years ago.