“Mom, you never listen to me!”, Angel said in a huff the other day. Her features crumpled as she crossed her arms and frowned at me.
I tried to not laugh out loud as I pulled her close to me, remembering the times we spent together, alone—just her and me. The days I literally spent just holding her, the hours I spent reading to her, the naps we shared, the classes we took together, the way she was my entire world and how she changed my entire world.
You'll never know how my breath catches still when I catch a glimpse of you, how startling it is when you seem to grow up overnight, when you move with the grace of a big girl but sleep like the baby I once held.
You'll never know the way a heart can beat outside the body, steadfast and strong, maybe, until you’ll have children of your own.
You'll never know how unfit I feel for this job sometimes, how much I want to hide under my covers, how many times I offer up a silent "Are you sure you meant me for this gig?" to the universe.
You'll never know how I see myself in you, something that frightens me, but also it thrills me.
You'll never know how I love watching you grow up, how I see everything you do for your brother, how you bear the burden of being the oldest so very gracefully.
You'll never know that I still watch you when you sleep, that I will never stop brushing the stray hair our of your eyes so I can see your beautiful face.
You'll never know how my biggest fear in life is losing you, is of you slipping away from me, slowly as you grow and I feel so scared just by thinking about it.
You'll never know how every step, every breath, every story you tell, every movement you make, makes me marvel at the gift you are.
You'll never know, Angel, how you became my entire world, changed my entire world, and will always be my world.
But I am here. Even when you think I'm not. And that's a promise.
Happy 7th birthday!
Love,
Ma
