i can't grasp the feelings i had when i was longing for you. almost like a fevered dream- what's real and what's delusion.
i had an image in my mind when i was pregnant with you, i imagined you as a little girl. i'm sure i said i was going to be the strongest mother.
the most fair.
the most creative and original.
we had the ultrasound and found out i was pregnant with a boy and though we hid it well, there was a ping of disappointment and then immediate guilt. the first feeling that i can't control.
two minutes later the doctor is in the room expressing concern of a cyst on your brain that could clear up in the next two weeks, and we'll check again.
the next two weeks a blurry haze. fog filled my mind. i went to the library and immersed myself in medical books i couldn't understand looking for answers that my doctor didn't tell me.
one night i parked my car under a full moon and it was so close and so bright that it made me feel i could reach out and take whatever i wanted. and all i wanted was for you to be healthy.
i kept one hand on my stomach at all times, willing and wishing for clarity. thinking i can't reach you but can you feel me? can you feel it?
i'm sorry for expecting someone else. all i want is you. you are all that i want.
two weeks and it had cleared and gone. and i cried with happiness. i promised to do good for you.
and now here we are knee deep in real life and i can't take the title of the mother i wanted to be some days.
challenges and change and i can't protect you from it all but i have to try and am i doing a good enough job? can you be compassionate and kind. and what about that one boy in your class that cries every morning for his mom? do you ever go up to him and say it's okay? i need you to be that person, but when we talked about it once you said he yelled at you and you never tried again. but i need you to try one more time.
because next year in a school of uncertainties and newness, if you're scared and want me, i need there to be one boy who comes up to you and says it's okay.
did you know the first year of your life was the best of mine? we spent that first summer month in our new little house and the upstairs was hot and i'd nurse you in bed and you'd leave sweat on my forearm.
i'd watch you sleep and dream and we'd play records in the bedroom and we listened to tom waits one morning and your eyes got so big. you really heard it.
we'd go in the back yard and i'd drag a little mattress out and we'd lay underneath the big oak tree that grows right outside your window. you'd follow the leaves in the wind.
you need me much less now. and the bike rides and walks around the block and wimpy playground with the little bridge you once ran across with adventure and wildness now feels mundane and boring.
you find excitement in different places now. even if it's not what i expected. you're all yourself.
but then, at night, after your little sister is rocked to sleep, and the sky is getting darker, i find you in your room and kiss your head and every time you whisper sweetly, "can you lay with me?" and so i crawl under your sheets and you wrap your arm around my neck and breathing into me you fall asleep. and i want to run away from everything and keep you small, but i don't tell you that because you might try harder for me.
and this is for you.
