My, how far we've come in 6 years. You're you and I'm me and we are figuring out this big, wide world together. I am trying, really trying, to be the best me I can, for the sake of you. And for your brother. Thank you for your generosity of spirit. And for reminding me to put those red rubber bands around my wrist.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"
Yes. Yes, I have. And I do. A lot.
You sigh. "More than you can every say," you say.
"That's right," I say, "more than I can ever say."
Thank you for continuing to allow me to see your heart.
"Mama, I when I saw AL start to cry I just... I couldn't stand it. I helped him fix his Legos."
Thank you for keeping me laughing and, simultaneously, in awe with your wit.
"Are you ready for bed?"
"Not yet!"
"Why? What do you need to do?"
"Mama, don't ask the question if you don't want the answer."
When I told you about how inside a mother's brain are actual cells of her children, and how scientists aren't really sure why, you told me you didn't like to think about that gooey stuff but that you were glad I'd always be able to know you.
I will. Always.
Six years seems like an impossibility. Didn't we just meet? Wasn't I just feeling your dimpled hands, and sausage toes? Weren't we just beginning to figure out how to be in this new life, this new world, this holy relationship together? Now it's six years gone and, although your fingers are no longer dimpled, and your toes are no longer sausages, we are still figuring it all out. We are still meeting, as I suspect we will forever be. But I will always be able to know you. Always.
Happy Birthday, Sprout.
~Mama
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