We have already had our fair share of stress, mess, anxiety, sleepless nights and boogers and with none of the benefits of trips to Disney World or dinosaur band aids. But I love it. I love seeing his proud face when he stands and scans the room from his new view. I love bathing him and wiping between his fat rolls. I love that my laundry is mixed in with his tiny shirts that are covered in milk and pears and poop. I love that my commute includes a stop at the babysitter’s and a conversation about how sweet and smart he has become.
These days, watching him study his toes or practice rolling over, I am overwhelmed by how much I love this kid. It’s like a sock to my stomach that I can be so enamored with his ability to play with a belt buckle or suck on a washcloth. It makes me wonder how could anyone love their child as much as I love him. My love feels so special, so unique, so otherworldly. Certainly, there is no one in the world that feels as much love as I do for him.
Yet, I know they must. I have been given a glimpse of how my parents must have felt when I brought home a good grade or learned to ride my bike. That sock to my stomach must have once been a sock in theirs. I knew I was loved but I could have never dreamed how much until I had a child of my own.
I see a mom at the park smiling as she pushes her daughter on the swing and I have a glimpse into her love too. I hope she isn’t distracted by bills and bullies and can feel that love she must have felt when her little girl was Bennett’s age. It is too precious to be overlooked by the mundane and ordinary.
On my first mother’s day, I am bowled over by my love. I am truly blessed and today I can bask in the rose-colored glasses that Bennett and I are not fighting over curfew or his bad taste in women. I know those days are inevitable. But I want to remember this perfect love forever.