One year ago today I found out about you.
In kindergarten class, my friends would write that they wanted to be doctors, super heroes, actresses, race car drivers, teachers, football players. A few days ago, I found a note--written in my five-year-old handwriting and spelling--in a book exclaiming, "When I grow up I want to be a farmer and a jockey, but mostly a mother." I have sat on a horse twice so I am not sure where the jockey came from. This was all followed by a story I wrote about a little girl named Charley. Followed by another list of baby names split into girls, boys, and both. Needless to say, you have been on my mind for a while.
Then there you were growing in my belly. Existing. A little life, created with love, by the miracles of life, and the graces of God.
And now here you are. In our lives as if you had always been. Sometimes I think that little kindergarten dreaming girl understood exactly what it meant, to love this much.
Being your mother is the simplest form of love. Pure and innocent. All that I had hoped. Absolutely everything I wrote about when I was five.
