What they know about me
They know what my heart sounds like on the inside of my body and what my blood sounds like as it courses through my veins. They know the rhythm of my body when I walk. They know what my voice sounds like as it reverberates through my chest.
They know what it feels like to fall asleep on my chest. They know what my skin smells like and, as infants, could pick me out of a group based on nothing but that (your baby can to). They know what it feels like to lay in the triangle of my lap, their head supported by my thigh and their bodies laying in the concave spot my legs make.
They know how my pats thrum onto their backs and bums. They know how my shh sounds in their ear. They know what it feels like to sleep with their head inside the crook of my elbow.
They know how I tickle. They know what my laugh sounds like underneath their ears. They know how my hair tickles their noses. They know all my different story telling voices. They know all my different pretend voices. They know a million things about me that no one else will ever know. Not even Big Daddy.
They know the way I sway as I carry them, sleeping, to bed. Stopping short every few steps to rock us both slowly. They know what it feels like to be squeezed by my hugs. They know that I whisper to them as they fall asleep that I’m never far away, all they have to do is call and I’ll be there. They know it’s true. They know they feel safe, because I do what I say I’ll do.
In concert with Big Daddy, they’ve made my dreams, and more, come true. And I love them. More than I’ll ever have the words to say or the time to write them. I LOVE them. All three.
Happy Mother’s Day.