Dear Reese,
Thank you for making me a mama. All I want today is to spend time with you. We hang out at the cottage with the family. You and Kai play side by side when your wake windows overlap.
You, me, and MorMor go to Troup Park, and you play in the sand and crawl all over us. There is a fascination with our sunglasses and a determination to take off your sunhat. I end up having to rub sunscreen all over your hair and scalp as a precaution.
After a bit, you get so tired and can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep at the beach or on a walk or later rocking in my arms. It makes me a little sad that I can’t cradle you the way I used to. I’m so grateful we did contact naps every chance we could when you were small.
But despite the skipped afternoon nap, you have a great day, and so do I (despite being a little tired and congested still). We have barbeque for dinner and go on a quick hayride before dessert (your first taste of chocolate cake, carrot cake, strawberry cheesecake, and double chocolate cheesecake — we have a plethora of options and I give you a little bite of each one).
Last year on this day, MorMor and I were in Green Bay meeting your Mama A — it was our first introduction to your big sister who came with her. We all got ice cream. You were there with us, growing, and only a month and change away from being born.
I wrote a haiku about the meeting:
Moms meet for ice cream
In May heat with high-five games
This is sacred too
It was sacred. And I was so afraid, even then (especially then), that I’d never get to be your mama. But I am. I am, and sometimes I can barely believe it. And then I stop being existential and rush to stop you from tipping over the potted plant and try to explain why we can’t play with that while you cry. You are a little too young for explanations. But you are old enough to give hugs with a purpose, and every god awful night I spent heartbroken and wishing for you without knowing you existed is worth it over and over again.
Don’t ever get me anything for Mother’s Day, darling. You will always be the gift.
Love,
Mama