Mothersong

By Renée Zitzloff
(For Joshua and every child)
Your birth touched me in a way I had not imagined possible. Small and frightened you entered the world. I was overcome by your vulnerability; and relieved that the ordeal that had brought you to my arms was over. Since that day, I have reviewed those scenes over and over in my mind, as though returning again and again to a favorite film. For I have found that with all the diversity that life has to offer; all the pain, all the joy, I cannot match those first moments with you. I cannot duplicate the tenderness, the awe, the fragileness of the moment that you lay on my tummy, and the cord that joined us together was severed. You looked at me, so utterly helpless and unknowing of what was coming to pass. You didn't cry, though you whimpered slightly, and I asked what was wrong; why didn't you cry? I thought you had to cry to be alive. They said you had to catch your breath. And so did I; at the beauty, the sheer beauty of your existence. Now, many months after your birth, you have changed our lives remarkably. Every day I watch and marvel at your innocent simplicity. You march around the house so intent on small tasks that mean nothing to the world, but are so important to you; and so important to me as I watch you grow. You are delighted with the "insignificant" things in life, and wrap your arms so easily around anyone who smiles at you. We spend hours upon hours together; playing silly games like "whoopty-do" and "fall boom boom." We tickle each other and giggle. We take long walks around the neighborhood with you in your stroller leading the way. Sometimes we discover a pretty rock or a flower, and it always ends up in your mouth. When you wake up from your nap, I slip in and watch you playing with your toes for awhile. After a moment you feel my presence, and look up with that joyful smile that says, "I knew you would be here." Quickly you roll over and pull yourself up, reach out your arms, and wordlessly ask me to pick you up. I do, and you rest your head on my shoulder, just for a moment. The world will never again be the same.
+++

“You are never too old to kiss your mom.” Joshua age 12