Liam is sleeping on my bed. I suppose I should go move him to his own soon. I love peaceful Friday evenings, when the whole of the weekends still stretches before me, and the house is mine. Of course, every light in the house is on. I should do something about that.
So here is a love note to my son:
Dear Liam,
I love the way you cry when I go to work. Although I don't want you to be unhappy, it makes me feel good that my leaving affects you. I love the slow, big smile that lights up your face when I come home. I love how you say everything we eat or drink now is "hot!" regardless of what it is. I love how you open and close your chubby sweet hands and say "Star" as you look at the stars on your mobiles. Or the light. Or the windchime. Or the ceiling fan.
I love to watch you push your push toy, and listen as you "vroom" while you push the toy car. When you chase your big green ball around the house, knees and hands barely pounding the floor, in your pursuit.
I love snuggling down to nurse you at night, and the way you sit up and wait for me at three in the morning.
I love the joy of watching you unfold, piece by piece. It is hard to imagine that one day you will be big like Caleb. Too big for kisses, embarrassed to be cared for, yet still needing so much. One day you will take the precious grin, sweet and trusting as your daddy's, and head off for a job. One day you will cry with disappointment over a broken heart, and fret with the discontent of middle age. Like all mothers, I only wish your strength will persevere, and you will keep that darling heart which has captivated me.
As you come closer to your first year on Earth, I wonder how long ago your life was planned. Are we part of the ages or just fleeting thoughts? Did you walk with us before you were your own person here, or are a you a brand new creation?
Regardless of the answer, I thank God for your existence. How stunningly phenomenal is the simple life of a mother, and the all-encompassing joy and love of watching others grow.
Love,
Mommy
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