Motherhood

There is nothing about you that is unlovable. Every molecule in your body is filled with earnestness, curiosity, and affection. It is a marvel to watch the little human being you are and to wonder at the grown person you will become. I can't help but worry about the scars that will come with that growth, about the periods of difficulty that are a requirement of expansion, and about the period of my life where I can no longer be near you. We become parents in such naivete, with a presumption that we have forever together. It is only now, with one of my children near double digits that I realize, if all goes to plan, you will face an uncertain world without me. I cannot reach out my arms and shelter you from what is to come for the entirety of your time here. This vulnerability takes my breath away, shakes me, and leaves me with a silent prayer to the universe that you will be cared for, that you will always find hope, and that you have roots deep enough to withstand the onslaught of cold and rain and snow and hope and desperation and love and heartbreak.

There is nothing about you that is unlovable. I love every atom. Every frown and smile and tantrum. If you know nothing else about me and my time here, please know that my favorite bit of it has been being your mother. The very marrow of this life has been you three. Each of you. My children, my teachers, my life.