She has her head on my knee and I run my fingers through her hair as she settles in for an early bedtime. She is my daughter and I am her mother. This is my story.
I love this kid more than life itself and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her. Growing up, I did not have a child of my own boldly planted on my life radar but now that I have a daughter, I can't imagine my life without her.
I remember being pregnant and laboring over what I would do if the baby was sick and I had to be at work. Well, that was a waste of time because the first time she was sick, the choice was clear. She came first and everything else, from that moment on, became a distant second.
I am committed to her. I am committed to her knowing that she is loved, that she matters and that she belongs. I am committed to not imposing my fears, insecurities and doubts on her and letting her discover and experience the world through her own eyes and in her own way.
Simple, right? No, it's not. A recent early morning series of texts between us went like this:
Her: Please, please, please come pick me up before school starts.
Me: What's up?
Her: Momma, I'm exhausted and just need to sleep, please pick me up.
Me: Hang in there and go to the nurse if you feel sick and she will call me.
Her: Please momma please, I need you. You have to come get me.
Me: I will come early at 3:30. Love you.
My inner voice spoke, she'll be fine, she's in a safe place, the school will call if she is sick, she was up late last night, as the texts continued. I responded thoughtfully to each request from my daughter as I watched the clock tick to 8:40 am, the time when school starts and both the pleading texts of a tired kid and the almost tears of a mother torn would be packed away for the day.
Watching her drift off to sleep now, I wonder what story my daughter would tell.
