My baby boy had a birthday yesterday. Four years old. It seems like only yesterday that my cousin called me to ask why I was so late, and I told her that it was because I was in labour a week early. I do know that one day I'll wake up alone, hearing the ghost of little baby feet tip-toeing into my room for an early morning snuggle and realise that they're all grown up and gone; living their own lives.I'll remember how he always loved to see me wearing a dress and red lipstick, and how he always made sure there were at least two stuffed animals in my bed before he went to sleep, so that I wouldn't be lonely. How he always asked me if I wanted help "downloading" the dishwasher, and also how much he loved trying to find matches for all of the socks in the dryer. His mysterious Texan accent that I have no idea how he acquired...
Four years old. Not a baby anymore, but my baby. My last baby. They're growing up, and I have too. I don't know what the future holds, of course. I still have the biology to have more children but for now, this is my life; my entire universe. At 27 years old, my child-rearing years were fulfilled. Both a blessing and a curse.
"I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet." -- John Adams
All that I can do is my best. Keep fighting the fight; be a warrior. When times are hard, I remember that I live for them. That I do what I do, I have hard times, I stumble and sometimes I fall; sometimes I fail miserably; but I do it all so that their lives may be better. So that they can have the opportunities I didn't; so that in many ways, their lives will be easier. God-willing, they won't have to go through some of the things that I went through.
I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
