To be a Mother

From my own social media a few weeks ago…

How do you put into words what it means to a mother, let alone a mother to a son?

It means feeling his hand reaching for yours, and squeezing back so hard because eventually you know you’ll have to let it go. It means having all the dance parties in your kitchen because he might be dancing with someone else someday. It means saying and calling his name as many times as you can because someday it might be weeks until he calls home. It means kissing his cheeks every day and his boo-boos, hugging him so tight because someday it might mean you only get one unasked for hug around Christmastime.

It means being all smiles and then going into your bedroom and tearing up because you know this love is more heartbreaking than just about anything you’ve ever felt and you know it won’t ever go away, but he will. Fathers turn into friends but mothers are always mothers to their sons. Even the closest mother-son relationships, still morph and change with the seasons. Don’t get me wrong, it’s supposed to and I want it to. And that’s what makes it hard.

These hands will be bigger than mine someday. This little voice will be deeper. He will be taller than me. Stronger than me. And become a leader of his own life and possibly his own family.

I am only 11 months in and I know each moment is a gift, and yet each minute passes with a weight stamped on my heart that whispers I won’t get today back. It’s both a blessing and a curse to be here, fully present, and yet knowing these arms that barely make it around my neck will be big enough to squeeze the heart from me in all the years to come.

I don’t know much. But I know to be a mother, let alone a mother of a son is hard to put into words.