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It’s Mother’s Day Weekend, and we have already spent half this weekend together. You and I. You jumping all over me, pulling my hair, hacking at my feet with your imaginary fire ax (which toddler knows what this is, sincerely?) and me fighting you off as you throw yourself into the sky and launch yourself at me with all of your body.  You have used my midsection as a landing pad and you just kept going. We have played build-it with your Legos and you kept kicking at my creation and then laughing. every. single. time. We stayed in pajamas all day long. I spent some time on the phone, and you played around me, pulling at me, then playing with your trucks and then turning back to me.

Tomorrow is our third Mother’s Day together. You turn three soon. You speak more these days than ever before. You tell me about dinosaurs and the great fire that destroyed them, and about fire trucks and police cars, and you always ask me if I am going to be at your birthday, if I shall show up for your birthday. When you’ve been naughty, after a time out or a spanking, you always ask if I am your friend. You tell me you want to be a doctor when you grow up. And then you say you want to be a fire truck too. 

Motherhood has been full of ups, downs and everything in between. The very ups are punctuated by your laughter and giggles, and the downs are marked by my tears when you are sick or I am worried about something that may happen to you or being afraid of not being enough for you.

For Mother’s Weekend, I want you to have a blast.

I want you to never stop asking questions. Questions that drive me crazy but show me that you are open to learning.

I want you to never stop throwing yourself 100% into everything. Even that jumping leap from your little bed onto mine, across what feels like the greatest chasm to a mother.

I want you to always smile at me with your little toothy grin.

I want you to know how much I love you. Even through your tantrums, shouting matches and overcrowding me (yes, Mama needs privacy in the bathroom). I love you to the moon and back. Especially on those days. You have taught me patience. You have taught me what strain of strength runs through my veins. You have taught me how to laugh at things. Like when you dropped a deuce in the bathtub the other night. Or when you decided to pass out half-propped out of your little bed; your head on the ground. Or when you poured out milk for the homies as I popped in the shower for a quick five minutes, and found that you had decided to Mr Miyagi wax-on-wax-off the milk all over the coffee table.

Then there are the good times. When you get so excited about planes passing overhead. Or when you say that you want to talk to me. Or when you danced to my fave – Glen Washington ‘Kindness for Weakness’ and completely melted me. Or when you realize we are taking a train ride.

You are the reason I celebrate motherhood this weekend, Austin. Though I really should celebrate it every day, even when you are driving me mad. I celebrate you.

 

 

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