It’s the anniversary of my motherhood tomorrow, and I felt like sharing some balloons. (Photo by D. Sharon Pruitt on Flickr). I really love October 17th. I love the boy who landed in our lives that day. I love the better person I’m becoming as I navigate this crazy painful, crazy wonderful role. I love that making a family can be just this lucky thing you stumble into when you fall in love with someone but that building a family is incredibly brave and deliberate. I love that he has my eyes and Michael’s steady temper. I love how deeply he cares about the people around him. And I fear it, because I worry he’ll get lost trying to please us.
I miss him when he’s in school, when he sleeps, when he grows another inch toward me. I can’t believe he’s taller than someone I’ve always looked up to. And even though I knew it, I still can’t believe how quickly he’s moving from totally dependent on me to the moment he’s ready to leave.
Being pregnant with him, and the journey that followed, righted a lot of things in my perspective on the world. I will forever be thankful for that.
John, you’re my happy place. I promise to let you go when I’m supposed to. And I promise to have a life beyond you. But I can’t promise that you won’t go through a really normal but sudden and horrifying realization that perhaps the world doesn’t revolve around you. I don’t know when it will hit you; it’s different for everyone. But it probably won’t be with any help from me. Because for me, the whole world kinda does.