This guy here, he is the light of my life.
I can't say that.
I hear other mothers reminisce about the days before children... how wonderful and carefree life was, how easy it was.
I can't say that either.
Some mothers say they didn't know real love until they had babies of their own.
I can't say that.
Other mothers say they struggle to learn to love their children, they don't know how.
I can't say that.
What I can say... what I know to be true, is this...
I love being this boy's momma.
I love the joy that he has added to my already happy and fulfilling life.
I love that I can bring happiness and comfort to his life.
I know that he would not be the same child without his Dad and me in his life.
I know that we are better people because of his sweetness and innocence
and that he teaches us how to play, to discover, to learn, to be silly.
I hope that he remains a good person with God in his heart because of something we have done as his parents.
I hope that in ten years, and in 15 years, and in 20 years,
we remember exactly what his skin smelled like when he was this small,
we remember how he smiles at us when we open his bedroom door in the morning,
and he runs across his crib so we can scoop him up,
how he points to the bed in his room so we will set him on it and he can snuggle up with a soft blankie for a minute before getting dressed.
I hope we remember how he says tickatickaticka whenever he sees our toes or his toes, or even a bare bit of skin,
how he tickled my long-john covered knee through the hole in the knee of my jeans.
I hope I remember how he plays with my hair when he sits in my lap at night before bed.
I hope I remember the way he makes a surprised face, opening his eyes wide and making his mouth into a perfect "o".
I don't think I will ever forget how much he likes to be outside,
but I hope I remember how he listens to the birds,
how he stops and stays still when he hears a dog bark in the distance, then says "woof" when he's sure that's what it was...
or how he says dott-doh when he hears a tractor start at a nearby farm. He watches to see if it is coming up our road.
I hope that I can always close my eyes and see his little dimple on his right cheek.
I hope that the scar above his left eye from the corner of the table disappears,
and if it stays, I hope it acts as a gentle reminder me to that he's soft and vulnerable and I should do everything I can to protect him.
I love how he trusts me.
I love that he runs to me when something loud scares him - it reminds me that even though sometimes what I say or do makes him cry,
he still loves me and trusts me and depends on me.
I secretly love that he thinks it's funny to run away from me when I say come here.
I don't want to teach him to disobey, but he truly thinks it's a game and the idea that he finds humor in it makes me smile.
I love it even more when it happens after bath time or before bed and he's in his diaper or less!
It makes me smile that he doesn't care that he's running around without clothes, that he isn't embarrassed.
He thinks it's hilarious and that makes me laugh, very quietly and discretely to myself.
I think he knows I think it's funny.
I love the way his little brain works. He's witty.
He says dib, dib, dop, dop when it rains,
because in his book, "Mr. Brown can go like the rain.
Dibble, dibble, dibble, dop. Dibble, dibble, dibble, dipple, dop, dop, dop."
I love how he loves to read. How he says "book" over and over and over.
He wants a book when he wakes up, a book while he's being changed, a book before and after naps.
A book before daycare and a book before bed. If you think one book's enough, you must be misled!
At least two books at a time is great. If you read all he wants, bedtime will be late!
Hee, hee, a little rhyme.
I hope that he never, ever, ever questions how much I love him.
No matter how old, how tall, or how big he gets.
No matter that his skin won't smell like baby lotion, or that his toes might not taste like heaven, I will still love him, maybe even more than I do today. No matter that he won't call me Mom Mom anymore, or maybe he will if I ask him to.
I hope that he knows that my heart overflows for him. That the thought of him makes me smile and cry at the same time.
I smile because I am so blessed to have him in my life, so blessed to be his momma.
I am so blessed that God chose me to help this child find his way through this life, that God chose me to teach and protect his little angel.
I am blessed that I already understand that he is teaching me as much as I am teaching him.
I cry because I fear for him, I worry for him... but mostly because I fear for myself that this precious, fragile gift could be taken away from me.
Because he will grow up and not need me as much, or worse, that he might not get to grow up.
I love this child with all of my heart, truly with my soul, and with every inch of my body.
When he cries, my chest hurts, my eyes swell with tears, and my heart physically aches.
When he giggles, I think my soul might burst with love and joy.
His laughter echoes through my heart and my head.
I am his Momma.
His Mom Mom.
Hearing his sweet little voice say Mom Mom as he runs into my arms when I walk in the door to pick him up from daycare is the best sound I've heard in my life.
Mom Mom. He says it when I open his bedroom door to get him up in the morning.
Mom Mom. He says it when I come into our house when he's been home with Daddy or with Grandma.
Mom Mom. He only says it like that when he's happy, when he's happy to see me.
Mom Mom. I am his Mom Mom and I wouldn't trade that for anything.
I am trying to be the best Mom Mom I can be to him. I'm the only Momma he's got.
Happy Momma's Day to me.