I look at you both in this perfect state of youthful bliss.
Your days consist of trips to the playground, meals prepared by loving hands,
and evening stories of witches and heroes and a world filled with hopeful,
happy endings. I wake up some mornings and wonder at the ways I am destroying
you without meaning to do so. When I am tired and haven’t slept enough and am
stressed about whether I’ll have a job after my maternity leave is over, I tell
you I can’t play pretend and I don’t have time for one more story. Sometimes
there are tears because you fell and the fall itself scared you but you aren’t
physically injured and I am just so sick of being needed that I shrug off your
very real, very important feelings.
I fail in a thousand ways every day with you and I wish,
more than anything, that I could be perfect. You greet me every morning with
your sweet kisses and your stories and your incessant singing; you make my
world infinitely more complex and beautiful and filled to bursting and I hope
the moments in which I take you for granted are limited.
I read news stories of the day and I think about all the
ways the world might destroy you. Bicyclists run off the road and stabbed by
terrorists, a government with a sparkling exterior but an interior rotted by
maggots, the wealthier getting more power and money at the expense of those
most in need of aid, and suicide and drug use increasing with the pace of the
desperation of the masses. A planet that is warming, storms increasing in
severity each year, and an uncertain future for all the living creatures on
this planet. Was it selfish of me to wish for you in the darkest moments of the
night, to dream with Tim about who our future little people might be, about the
things they may hope for and one day accomplish?
Did my ancestors look to the future with dread, worried what
would become of their children and grandchildren? In the depth of World War II,
when victory was far from certain, did they lie awake at night and wonder at
the arrogance of bringing little humans into such chaos?
Regardless of where we are all headed, I hope you know that
I look at you and I know that you can be a part of the solution. I know that
you can and will be kind and good and true and that you will provide light in
the darkest places and hope to those who have surrendered. I want you to think
critically and for yourself, but mostly, I want you to strive to goodness. I
want you to be brave and push against those who would tell you what to do or
how to think. I want you to have the enormity of character to forgive those who
have done you harm and to avoid, when possible, inflicting pain on those around
you (and especially upon those who you perceive not to deserve such mercy). I
want you to treat this planet with a gentle hand, allowing green things to grow
where previously they could not. And if you are with friends or with strangers
and there is not enough food or warmth or shelter to be had, convince yourself
that half shall be more than enough (and that the rest can be found in the
warmth of good company, of true companionship, and friends who are more akin to
family).
I awake in the morning with uncertainty and worry and I am
greeted with your laughter and your smiles and your unconditional love. It is
an infinite blessing to find myself beside you, to call myself your mother. Be
kind. Be brave. And let’s not stop laughing and laughing and laughing ourselves
to tears because these moments are temporary and one day, I will leave this
place to you. And I hope my dear ones, to have left it better for having been
here. To have left you better for having been your mama.
