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The Hug That Didn't Happen

We're visiting family this weekend; we drove here from Philly, and another part of the family drove from farther away. With our shorter drive and our earlier departure time, we arrived first, of course. When the rest of the family arrived a few hours later, Austen, who'd already been having a great time playing with the older relatives, was thrilled to see a playmate his size—his almost 4 year-old cousin, whom I'll call C—come through the door.

Al and I were sitting on the bottom steps of the staircase, which starts its climb in the foyer, as C and his dad came in. Austen stood in the foyer and waited patiently while C removed his shoes, and as C entered Austen's orbit, Austen went in for the hug. He threw his arms open wide and leaned into C, who didn't respond in any way. He stayed half-turned away from Austen while Austen attempted the hug, and then he dashed back to the door. Austen lurched forward a bit, turned to follow C's path with his eyes, and scowled in obvious hurt and confusion. That's when I started to cry.

It wasn't a sobbing kind of cry; it was more a lump-in-the-throat-with-watery-eyes kind of cry, so Austen didn't seem to notice the tears when I scooped him up a few seconds later. I carried him into the kitchen, gave him a big hug, told him I loved him, and then kissed him and sent him back out to the foyer to attempt another greeting. Then Al had to hug *me* for a few seconds while I tried to get it together to go out and say hello to the rest of the clan.

To his credit and my pride, Austen didn't even glance in my and Al's direction when his hug was rebuffed, which I hope means that the indicident didn't immediately burn itself on his heart the way his scowl did on mine. I suspect for him it's just one of many experiences he's going to have as he develops and hones his social skills, and one he didn't take to heart. It certainly didn't stop him from trying to play with C (who finally acknowledged Austen's presence with a "stop touching my toy!" growl), or from trying to copy him (when C got a Yo Baby yogurt from the fridge and sat at the table to eat it, Austen did the same).

I firmly believe my job as a mother is to raise an independent child (who will become an indepdent adult), one who's equipped to handle any situation. I know it was probably smotherly rather than motherly to swoop in and snuggle Austen after the failed hug attempt, and I'm sure a better mother would have let him sort out what to do next on his own, but I couldn't do it. My heart broke a little in that moment, and I think I needed that snuggle more than Austen did.