I love you, and I know you love me too. I still see glimpses of my once constant companion hidden behind your steely stares and dismissive shrugs. I was you once. I get it, but there are things I need to say that you might not be able to hear, so I decided to jot them down.
I fell in love with you long before the doctor placed you in my arms. You made me a mommy, and I have never been the same. When I look into your blue eyes I sometimes see myself, and it scares me. You are 50% me, genetically speaking, and unfortunately I did not have the luxury of choosing what characteristics or traits I shared. I know the power of your stubbornness, your quick wit and the inability to quiet your mind. I have no scientific proof, but I am convinced over thinking is hereditary.
I have watched you blossom from a shy and pensive little one into an independent, articulate and outspoken individual. I admire your ability to cultivate friendships and nurture those in need. You are a natural leader, and your quiet confidence booms louder than any voice can carry. I have seen you push through once paralyzing fears and obliterate your comfort zone, but I have also seen another side of you. It is a hurtful and borderline hateful side. Words can be weapons; always remember to choose yours wisely.
Our impromptu sing-a-long sessions in the car, your random sweet messages or spontaneous laughter are motherhood gold for me. It is a currency like no other. You are forging a path to your future, and I am doing my best not to follow too closely. Worry has taken up permanent residence in my muddled fortysomething mind. I worry about the decisions you make, and each day you are gaining more control over your life. In three short years you will be an adult. I am afraid to blink.
I know at times it seems as though I do not trust you, but it is the rest of the world I do not trust. I wholeheartedly believe the world is filled with more good than evil, but it is also horribly unforgiving and remarkably unfair. The more I try to protect you, the more you push back and crave space. It is a vicious cycle, and redundant dance we do. I try to bite my tongue, but as you know all too well, I am at a genetic disadvantage when it comes to silence. Logically, I am aware the scars I try to protect you from will serve as reminders of your strength, but a mother’s love is not logical.
My mommy superpowers have been subdued, and I can no longer kiss away boo-boos or scare off the monsters from under your bed. There are things bigger than both of us you will face. There are wrongs you will never be able to make right, words you can never get back and actions you cannot undo. In life there will always be consequences, and no matter the circumstances your actions are yours. I might not always like your choices, but I will always love you.
“Love liberates, it doesn’t hold. That’s ego. Love liberates.” ~ Maya Angelou