Who's Holding Whom?

Parker always loved to be held.
When he was a round-faced and chunky (we called him "solid") baby, I would pack him around on my hip.  He would hang on like a little monkey and people would tease that HE should be carrying ME. At one point, I went to the doctor for chest pains, only to be told that I had pulled a muscle lifting Baby Huey.
Even rocking him to sleep was a workout...I would have to hold him tight against me for the first two minutes while he fought sleep like a battle tested warrior.  Then, suddenly, he would relax and slump against my chest, eyes closed but still making little moans when he breathed out, as if even in sleep he was protesting.  And I would rest my chin on his head and rock a while longer just to feel the heavy warmness of my baby boy against my mommy-soul.
Happily, even though he has grown up into your typical teenage boy, he never lost his affection for being affectionate.  He freely hands out hugs and occasionally still lays his head over on my shoulder at church.  When he comes home from school and basketball practice, he strolls toward me with open arms and says, "Hey, mama.  How was your day?" in his now-manly voice.  And if he thinks I seem down, he just gives me a long hug and doesn't say anything.
And he rests HIS chin on MY head and I feel the warmth of comfort against my weary-soul.
I give him a squeeze and a pat on the back and pretend that I'm holding him.
But deep down I wonder...Who is really holding Whom?