Oh happy day, indeed.
In the 23 months since I first began keeping this “baby book”, I have worked towards defining what it means to be a mother.
From scary moments to celebration,
dance parties to dress-up dates,
these small snapshots fit together to paint a cubist picture of a concept that is so precious,
so dynamic,
so colorful
that it is impossible to put into plain words.
But, this morning, on mother’s day, I got a bit closer;
You see, as we sat and ate breakfast
on our bouquet-covered table,
my husband asked my daughter what her mommy means to her.
“What does mommy cook for you?” he asked.
“Pizza. And birthday cake. And quesadilla!” exclaimed my daughter.
“And what does mommy do with you?”
“She plays.”
“What does she play?” he continued.
“She plays jungle.”
And that was that. In my daughter’s own words, what it means to be a mother. She was able to,
with her limited vocabulary,
define what “mommy” truly means.
And what that means to me I may never be able to express…
Except that it means everything.