He was so excited to wake me up this morning, and though my husband had the best intentions to try and let me sleep in, there was a not-so-subtle tapping at the bedroom door. He had made me two art projects at school, one of them a coupon book he was eager to use; I had a back rub and his bed was made before I had wiped the sleep from my eyes. He danced around the living room, so proud of himself.
We dug out one of his baby photo albums and he is fascinated with himself, cuddling up with me and turning each page, ever so carefully. You would never know that we were rookies, that most days it was all I could do to make it to bedtime. All he sees is a happy baby, a good childhood, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.
He is the reason I celebrate today, because he made me a mother. And when I look at him and think how smart, kind, wonderful he is, and what a gift he is to everyone, I’ve done a damn good job.
Happy Mother’s Day, indeed.


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