You looked at me like you knew me.
I don’t know how, sweet girl. Even I barely knew who I was, just twenty three years old, holding a brand new babe. But you opened your brown eyes and you looked at me, like you knew the mama I was and the mama you needed. I became her because of you.
“We just brought her home from the hospital”. That’s all your dad and I can keep murmuring back and forth to each other, hardly believing that five years could have gone by. But is has. You are brighter, sweeter, and more kind than we could have imagined.
Your favorite thing to do is write the family little notes, something you started when you turned four. We find them everywhere. I find them tucked into my work bag, I pull them out of my sneakers. They are a combination of your favorite words that you know how to spell (bingo, hugs, bye), “I love you Mom”, or funny things you copy off of household items. I found the words “Epsom Salts, Bacteria, and Bell Peppers” the other day on a note I found tucked into the laundry. I want to save them all.
People often call you “Smart”. You’re used to it, and honestly, it doesn’t really faze you. You just smile and continue on with your day, but I mull it over sometimes. I know you are smart, but I’m more concerned with the fact that you are kind. Because you are. You are every bit as kind as you are brilliant. You’re every bit as strong as you are beautiful. You are every bit as loving as you are funny.
Thank you for making me your mom five years ago. You looked at me like you knew me, and you made me who I am.