I just thought I’d remind you that you and I, we have this energetic connection. And every time I notice it, I am knocked to my knees with a holy servility.
Last week, I snuggled close to you as we cozied up for bed. I was sad and contemplative, but to my knowledge, my face didn’t show it. We laid together for a few minutes in silence. And then you rolled over and looked at me and remarked in your tired, kind voice “Mama, why are you sad?”
Your comment took me by surprise and I realized that there’s no way I could ever hide my authenticity from you. You know. And your mere sensitivity to my energy was an immediate pick me up. Suddenly, life shifted back into perspective, into the simple home we’ve created, the love of eight arms to hug, the way the universe provides, and the sweetness of a singular moment that carries us through.
Sometimes, our connection is silly, too. A few days ago, having just come back from a 40 hour birth and an exhaustive week, I began to draw your nightly bath. Leaning over the tub, my muscles ached and my spirit was weary. I sighed as I thought “I haven’t relaxed in a warm bath in what seems like months. I just wish I could slip in there alone”. Then you walked up beside me and said “Mama, wanna get in with me?”. In an instant, my clothes were in a pile on the floor, and I was letting the water carry my body. Before you joined me, I said “Alright, one rule. No peeing in the tub. Please go potty first”. And you did.
And then, would you believe it, I let some flow. Yep, I pee’d in the tub. There you have it, the truth comes about. What mama hasn’t done this? (echo, echo, echo) I guess being around laboring mamas and reminding them they can pee in the tub ’cause it’s sterile causes one to be quite – ahem – lax about such things. And I really, really didn’t want to lug me achin’ bones to the toilet. Sorry about that.
Two nights ago, I dreamed I was astral traveling. My body wouldn’t separate past my head (which is probably why it seemed more of a dream than a reality – my brain was stuck!) and my legs and body were floating all the way to the ceiling, anchored only by the head on my pillow. At some point, I let go and traveled by air out our bedroom door, into the hall, and stopped in front of the front door. I suddenly became terrified. Frightened for my life. Whoosh – the next instant I remember being right next to Daddy (still “dreaming”) and saying “Jason, Jason, get up. I am SO scared. Someone is at the door. Please!” And then, I woke to the sound of you crying at the threshold of our door, which you do most nights. That day, unsolicited, you said to me “Mama, last night, I heard a terrible crash. I was scared and came to bed with you”. “Yes”, I replied “I know. Mama was scared at that precise moment too. You knew.”
I love you more and more and more each day. Or perhaps just appreciate you more. Or both. You are approaching four and let me tell you, three has been an interesting year. One could go as far as to say it’s even been a train wreck at times (the nice way of saying cluster-fuck). But, we’ve managed to get the train back on the tracks and continue chugging along. You’ve come into your own so much more this year, asking questions, coming up with answers that suit you, understanding the ways of the world. And you are so very confident. And genuine. And you know your letters and can write them and how cool is that to watch your brain work?
And you still don’t poop on the potty. WTF? And I love you regardless, and in spite of, and BECAUSE of each of these precise and slightly poopy reasons.
My first baby, my first daughter, the first seed of hope, I love you.
PS And you know what? After I wrote this and was getting ready to post it, I got an email from Grams (Mama’s Mama). And one of the lines she wrote was “That is – if we are thinking along the same lines – which I know – you – we always do.” And how serendipitous, I thought. I guess mama’s and daughter’s always have that special bond.