Once upon a time, I had a little baby. She was small and tiny and vulnerable. She couldn’t do anything for herself, so we provided everything she needed. She is my first child. She is the steel bow of a hardened ship cutting its way through ice topped waters. She is making me yield, opening a channel in my heart.
She is creating something new in me even though I come by it in an ungainly fashion. This growth comes with some difficulty but sometimes, unexpectedly, I do find some grace. This has been her entire existence- my first foray into the brutal landscape of mothering. She is braver and stronger than I will ever hope to be. She is the fulcrum upon which I become a better person. She is my teacher, and I have so many lessons to learn yet.
To say I love her will never be enough. I admire her. I am in awe of her. I love her and am in love with her every day.
I am so grateful for her patience and loving heart as I make my way into this brave new world. She will always be the one who bears my harshest hand, which rises not out of contempt but out of inexperience and fear of what I do not have yet to offer her. Her pure love, the love that accepts me even though I am not perfect and I’m not always patient and sometimes I am not even kind, breaks my heart open. I dissolve into a million little pieces upon the realization that I have never known love like this. That she is the first to make me feel so hopelessly humble and yet so eternally motivated to become the person she believes me to be.
Of course, someday I will fall from her grace. She will be older and she will see the cracks in my veneer more keenly. But today she is still little. Today she still finds it easy to love me. Today is a moment we will have forever, even if it just lives here on this page for me to return to again, and again, and again.
Give ‘Em Hell, My Love.