I spy on you when you are playing or sleeping. I gaze at your peacefulness in your own skin. The day of tantrums (both of ours) and spit-ups are a distant memory.
While you are at tender ages, I hope that the skills your dad and I use to raise you will carry over into being a teenager and an adult. I can’t even fathom what you might look like at that stage.
This year I will be turning 38 years old. The same age your grandma (my mom) passed away from her second battle of cancer. I have feared turning 38 for obvious reasons. Now with your surprise appearances, I am in fear more of having my mother’s fate.
This is why I do not sweat over having a spotless house nor cooking from scratch. I rather play with you by coloring or playing dress-up. I scribe your stories in case I am not here to tell you.
I love it when my first miracle rolls her eyes when I tell her I love her for the zillionth time that day. Then hugs me and tells me that she loves me too.
With all my soul, I hope I am here to help you with homework, ground you for coming in past your curfew and help you with your babies.
You are my everyday delight.
I make this promise to you.
No matter where I am you will always be in my heart.