A letter to my son, on Mother’s Day.
I don’t know if I ever really thought too much about what it would feel like to actually be a mom. I didn’t know it would feel like this.
Being your mom feels like I’m done, like this is it, like I’ve found my space and my place.
It’s early mornings, seeing your cheesy smile from between the slats of your crib.
It’s tickling your belly and hearing your huge giggles.
It’s brushing your hair out of your eyes and tucking it behind your seashell ears.
It’s watching you feed yourself, when just months ago you couldn’t even touch your fingers to your lips.
It’s waving at you and getting a cheeky grin and a wild wave back.
It’s lots of kisses on smooth chubby cheeks.
It’s early evening light, a quiet room, the small squeak of the glider as I sing a lullaby and rock you, your warm back rising and falling against my palm, your fists gripping my arms, your cheek against my shoulder.
It feels like joy. It feels like peace.