You are not so little anymore. And neither is your vocabulary, appetite, or capacity for endless energy. We live in Tennessee and we have for almost four months now. Your Dad is on another degree chase, feet on the ground and off to a running start. You miss him when is away, sometimes during the day while we're playing you look up at me with eyes wide like you suddenly remembered how much you love him and that you haven't seen him in a while, and you shout "Daaa!" and run to the door and point and repeat, "Daa! Daa! Daaaaa!" He is working hard, and reading so many books. But when he comes home, he hugs you first. And he spins you around and tosses you about and wrestles you on the floor until you can't breathe from laughter.
You are not even two years old yet, and you are already reminding me to slow down, and pay attention to the important things. For almost a week now, you have begun looking at me when I give you your food at the table and saying "Sit!" while pointing at the chair next to you. I admit, I used to use your eating time as a chance to do the dishes or clean up the living room while you were guaranteed to be occupied for a few minutes. Now, we sit, and we "talk." And I am better for it.
I admit to you, sometimes being a mom makes it hard to be yourself as well. At least, it seems that way. And the temptation is to leave you to yourself, watching tv, or playing with toys while I clean, or look at my phone, or just sit in quiet. But the truth is that I am anxious all the time I do this. And I think it is because I know that I am one woman who is trying to divide who she is. I seem to think, if I can't paint and write, and do what I want with all my time I am not being true to myself. But when I do take the time to read a book I want to read, or drink a whole hot cup of coffee (which I sometimes fear I will fade away without) I feel as though I am not doing enough as your mother.
But then there are days like today. When we spend the whole day actually seeing one another, and laughing, and sharing. When we go new places (even that one corner of the yard we haven't seen yet) and we eat together, and hold frogs, and make houses for caterpillars so that we can watch the cocoon happen. And I have these flashes to memories of your Nana and I, when I'm 15 and in the car talking about songs or shopping for prom dresses, and experiencing this dichotomy of feeling like I understood so much more about life than she did, but the fear that if that were true she wouldn't share herself with me anymore, and the even bigger fear that it wasn't true at all. And the feeling of sitting across from her at a Mexican restaurant secretly drinking in every part of the way she talked to me like I was an adult. And sitting in wonder at how she treated me with the confidence that I could handle myself. The way I slept in her room every night after the divorce because I didn't know what else to do, telling her and myself it was because I wanted to to watch the TV shows she'd recorded. But knowing it meant I could talk to her as I fell asleep. And I realized today the wonderful and complex relationship between a mother and daughter goes so much deeper than what I am living with in mind. And I will tell you here, in these letters, how I felt when I was 13, and how I felt when I was 15, and how I feel now that I'm 29. Because there are parts of my life I'm afraid I have not given due justice. That I've walked quickly through because of fear, and covered up because of misunderstanding. But I promise to remember them when you are 15 and you seem like you would rather be anywhere than at a restaurant with me. I will not take it personally when I recognize the flailing behind your eyes when you think your life is passing you by while you shop for pants with me. Because I know this, you are mine now, you will be mine then, and you will come home to me when you are older. Once you have learned to harmonize your life and yourself. Because we love one another in a way that is sustainable and constant. I will be stable, and patiently wait for you to call me for dinner or a movie because I know that when you do, you will really need me to be there. But do call me. Tell me to "Sit!" and talk with you when I seem distant, because I am still, as an adult learning to harmonize my life and myself. I am my happiest when I am with you as myself, wholly and completely undivided.
I'll always be there for you, as you are there for me. It is a divine connection that I promise to nourish and dedicate myself to for the rest of my life.
I love you,
-I am your mom.
