I can\u2019t feel my arm; it\u2019s bent around the headrest behind me to hold your hand as you fall asleep. Your tiny fingers use mine to rub your eyes and fight for comfort.<\/p>\n
But in the mirror I see your eyelashes flicker as the streetlights pass us and I think, You and I have a fight. I say, \u201cLet me brush your hair,\u201d and we both fall to the floor crying because it was the end of the rope for both of us that day.<\/p>\n But I see you twirl, I see you making adventures and creating worlds and I think, My closet is filled with clothes that yearn to be worn again, each have served a different season of my body: preparing for you, growing you and recovering from you. I say, \u201cBe patient with yourself; you grew a human.\u201d I see the way somehow still nothing fits right.<\/p>\n But I see the way you cling to me when you\u2019re shy, comforted by my curves and I think, My back and shoulder blades ache. I struggle under your weight as I bounce you for the nine-hundredth time. Your eyes are giving you away; you\u2019re almost dreaming. I said, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t be here.\u201d I said, \u201cI wouldn\u2019t be bouncing you this long.\u201d I said, \u201cJust one more minute.\u201d<\/p>\n But your body relaxes on mine and your stubborn breath falls on my ear and I think, I see the scars you left me. I hyperventilated under the white lights the second time they came around. I saw the knives they used and the straps on my arms. Eight pairs of arms moved me onto a cold table. Your dad had to be outside for the needle; I cried out as it pressed in.<\/p>\n But I see the scar that provided a way out for you and I think, There are days I\u2019m not sure who I am. Sometimes your dad isn\u2019t sure who I am either; he reaches desperately toward me only to find a closed door. I wonder if joy is still out there somewhere. I think, \u201cWill I get past this?\u201d I try to feed you and you throw hours of work on the ground, you want noodles. You cry out in anger. Anxiety closes the windows I had left to breathe. Why is it like this, how did I get here, who loves me?<\/p>\n But I see you smile when you hear a song you know. Your pleased eyes find mine. I pick you up in your wet boots and we dance under the kitchen light. I see the way the light hugs your face. And I know. You need me; you are because of me. You are me. I am your home and I am mom and you are my wonder. I feel the light too and I realize,<\/p>\n It\u2019s been a joy to be broken for you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n And I know in my bones,
It\u2019s my joy to be uncomfortable for you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
It\u2019s my joy to cry for you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
It\u2019s my joy to share my body with you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
It\u2019s my joy to break my expectations for you.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
It\u2019s my joy to make a way for you. I\u2019d do it again tomorrow, every day.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
<\/em><\/strong>I\u2019m more whole because of you.
<\/em><\/strong>With joy,
<\/em><\/strong>Mom<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n