I Am Her Mother
This is something I wrote for my daughter April 28th, 2006, and I wanted to share.
I finally get it.
It clicked for me.
Tonight, I rocked my daughter to sleep. I smelled her breath, felt her heart beat against mine, watched her eyes dropping in sleepiness, listened to her breathing even out and I realized that if I have done nothing else important or right in this world it’s okay, because I’m her Mother.
I had a bad day and when I got home, for the first time, I just wanted to be with her. I wanted to make her belly laugh, I wanted her to give me kisses, I wanted her to smile. She made everything okay.
I get why people do this more than once. I’m not ashamed to admit I didn’t before tonight. I’m honest, that’s not a fault.
I’ve always loved her, but now I get it. It was almost an audible click.
I am her Mother.
I cried when I finally laid her in her bed. I’m choked up just writing this.
She’s my miracle – bad days, good days, she’s mine. I made her in my body. It’s so hard to explain – your heart is being ripped out yet made whole all at once.
I am her Mother. How lucky am I?