It’s Not Impossible

The other night during our normal bedtime routine Ava climbed across me on the bed and with the most defeated voice said, “Mom, I wish I could love you as much as you love me, but that’s impossible.” I asked her why she thought it was impossible and she said, “Well, because you made me.” My heart melted into the biggest puddle in the world.

I replied, “Well sweetheart, you are the only person in the whole world who knows what my heartbeat sounds like from the inside.” Her eyes got really big and she said, “That’s true mom!” Then curiosity set in and she said, “When I was in your belly did I grow in your bones and stuff?” I told her no…that she stayed in a special place in my belly. Then she asked, “Mom, when I get a baby in my belly will people think I’m fat and make fun of me?” Oh my sweet girl…I worry about how much she worries. So I said, “No baby…people will come up to you and want to rub your belly and they will tell you how beautiful you are and that you’re glowing.” With eyes wide she asked, “I’m going to glow like a lantern when I’m pregnant?!?!? Really, mom, is this true?!?!”And I dissolve into a fit of giggles and she quickly followed suit.

I love these conversations. The ones where she has no idea the depth with which they touch me and yet can end on such a light-hearted note. I love the ease at which she switches from serious to funny…I love these moments I share with her. I know she might not remember them…that’s why I share them here. I hope that one day she can look back at her life documented and know how very much I love being her mama. That all of these little things are what makes up the big love I have for her.

Where I’m From

 

I am from the last day of the 70’s, from a land of Cabbage Patch Kids and slap bracelets.

I am from the brick house with a white front porch swing.

I am from the timber behind my grandparent’s house, the trails made by go-cart tires and laughter that can still be heard all these years later. I am from blackberries picked right off the bush and the taste of honeysuckle in the summertime.

I am from sweet iced tea and blue-eyed blondes, from a man who asked my grandfather to be his daddy when he was four and from grandmother who spoke her mind and stood up for what she believed in and from my southern mama.

I am from the woman who cooked in cast iron skillets and a man dedicated to serving his country.

From the place where the car would fly if us kids would sleep and pregnant bellies were the result of swallowed watermelon seeds.  

I am from the blue bus that took me to and from Sunday School. I am from a family of  Christians. Believer that kindness is a way of life, not just a random act.

I’m from the white sands of Daytona Beach, from the military tanks at Fort Knox, from the cobblestone roads of Charleston, from the gateway arch in St. Louis, from the city of the angels. I am from fried chicken dinners and grits with cheese.

From the grandfather who has hands that could turn a rusted out bucket of metal into a classic car that would take so many first place trophies at the car shows it would make him the man to beat, from  the father who could play just about any song on the guitar to make his little girl dance and from the mother who put the playpen in one arm and me in the other and spent every day on the warm sands of Pensacola Beach.

I am from pictures tucked up in my closet, photo albums with yellowing pages and a baby book filled with mementos from my childhood. I am from forgiving hearts, warm hugs and love.