Worms
Today we watched a movie and fished from a boat made from a cat lounge chair on the living room rug. You almost fell headfirst into the toybox to find me a fishing pole.
Whatever you have, you want me to have too.
You woke up telling me I’m your best friend.
“I’m so happy,” I told you.
“I’m so happy too, Mommy.”
Even when you’re mad, you stop mid-tantrum for a hug. Your love is perfect. You are perfect.
You’ve loved me from the moment they set your tiny, cone-shaped head on my chest. You loved me when I scrunched your legs up to see how you fit in the womb, when I was still fearless after a 46-hour labor and willing to pop my boob out anywhere when you were hungry.
You loved me when I was a good mom and smiled a lot. You loved me when I was a scared mom that kept imagining horrible things happening to you that I somehow couldn’t prevent. You loved me when I was a hurting mom just trying to live.
You loved me through a pandemic and depression.
You loved me when I didn’t have an ounce of love to offer myself, or anyone but you.
You love me without make-up. You kiss me before I brush my teeth. You don’t care if I ever comb my hair or how gray it gets. You love me in the backyard digging for worms, in the car with eyes lit up for a cake pop, or terrorizing the old folks in the supermarket aisles as you whiz by in your kid-sized shopping cart. You love me when you look at me before you do something risky, knowing you might get in trouble, but you also might need me to stop you from getting hurt. You love me when I yell too much, which is less and less. You love me when I’m the mom I want to be, which is more and more. You love me when I’m sad and trying not to let you see me cry, or when I’m mad and have to walk away. You love me when I sing, and even more when I stop (unless you’re sad or scared and need to hear another round of This Old Man RIGHT NOW MOMMY). You love me when you’re sick and feverish and sprawled across my chest. You love me when you hide and I pretend I can’t find you until you squeal and give yourself away. You love me every moment of every day.
I can see you right now as I write this. You’re playing water games with the neighbors, soaking wet and shivering but so happy to be included that your lips will turn blue before you let me take you into the house to warm up. You are the best kid. The purest person. Chaos in a tiny body. Raw, unadulterated love. You test me, terrify me, thrill me, and can somehow see through my layers of self-doubt and unworthiness to the soul underneath that knows exactly how to love you.
Thank you for choosing me, for listening when I told you it was time to come (you listen when it matters, even if you can’t hear me when I tell you to stop pulling the cat’s tail). Bringing you into this world made me a mother. Spending every moment of every day with you for these three indescribable years has made me a mom.