I love you, little girl. I love that I have a daughter. I love that you were so brave to grow inside me. I love that I felt you, that I grew with you. I love that we labored together, that I birthed you. I love that the whole time, you were showing me how, guiding my body, being one with my heart.
I love that we had peace, that it was in our home and on our time. I love that we figured out what we needed.
I love that I looked so beautiful with you inside. I had the most beautiful round belly.
I love that euphoria I felt when I first realized I was pregnant with you. I love that we did get those first 12 weeks were everything was a miracle, everything was perfect. I do love those moments of no fear, no tears, no pain.
I love that these days, almost 7 months later, the world looks so different. Everything brings me close to you. I love that I am so much closer to my essence because of you.
There is a lot I don’t love. I don’t love that your body was not what we expected, and that it didn’t let you stay on. Although I do love that you had a body, even for the shortest time, that I got to know how real you are.
I love that I feel: love, pain, loneliness, longing, bursts of joy, sharp incandescent pain. I love that you are real.
I may sound like a fool.
In fact, I think I most probably actually do.
But sometimes, I talk so much about the journey, about all that I had to let go.
Today, I just want to talk about how much I love you. About how my life is better because of you.
I love that now, again, I write. Before, when I was young and free of people that loved me more because I am mom, before, when it was just me being 20 and so immersed in my own head, I wrote. Intellectual rumblings, flashes of aesthetic genius, falling in love with myself, critiquing every coma, debating every change of paragraph, spiralling into self absorption in a way that at 20 and in New York is wonderful and important.
Now again, because of you, I write. There is no genius, no critique. It is just words that gush from my heart like rivulets of blood. This blood is life, our life, yours and mine, now and forever one life. Blood that keeps me alive, and though me, you. Blood that because you lived, now carries tiny cellular molecules from your body, changing mine.
All this silliness to say,
i love you