Letter from Mama, v28

There are days when being your mother is like wearing my heart outside my chest, and hoping like Hell nothing bad happens to it. This week, I had to to do what no human should ever have to do. I had to attend the funeral service and celebration of life for a little boy who never even had his first birthday cake or candle. There are days, Miss lil' dude when I want to hold you in my arms and stare into your eyes so I can further memorize every feature I already know. The dimple in your nose. The way your hair parts to the right. The red stork's kiss on the back of your neck. I want to gather our most beloved things and stow away together in a dark and quiet closet because it's where I can protect you. There are days.

And then there are the days where you point out the fat Robins on the fence and counting them one by one for me. It's watching you try kiwi for the first time, then eating two of the whole fruits in a row. It's the songs you sing to your own melodies, the ones I sing later, when we're apart. It's still marveling at this magical creation of life. How you were once here, deep inside, and now you're there. Three feet of blonde beauty, brilliance, and bravery. Your heart beating in your chest to its own rhythm. A rhythm I gave you and can still feel.

I love you when you're mad. I love you when you're sad. When you're hurt. When you're dirty. Afraid. Misbehaving. Rioting. Laughing. I love you when you're sick. When you're crazy. When you're sleepy. Hungry. Needy. Wild. I love you when you're all these things. And I promise you that list will grow and grow as you are more and more things. There is nothing that I won't love you for. When you don't want peas or hair or to come with me ... I will still love you.

Because you are my heart outside my chest.

Mama loves.