My love, you’ve grown so fast.
You have been a thousand different souls since the first moment I met you, and your mama is struggling to keep up. Your heart feels fully – you laugh, and cry, and dance and “jump” with all that you have – and I am so intensely jealous of the joy you have for life.
When I look at you, I see all of my strengths, all of my shortcomings and all of my wishes for the life you’ll have. I see the hope that I will be good enough, strong enough, loving enough to help you grow into the man you deserve to be. You’ve given me so much more, and tried me so much harder, than I ever thought possible.
I live every day in awe of you, worried for you, worried about you and absolutely in love with you. You are my heart, running around outside of my body, and I don’t know how I was ever so lucky as to have you.
I know that I’m not a perfect mom. That I lose my cool and yell at some of the most inane times. That I can’t always be the fun-loving free spirit I want to be, because life is pulling me in a million directions when you want to be blowing dandelion seeds in the back yard. But I’m trying.
For you, I’m trying.
I want to soak up every minute, to watch you dance to the theme song of Friends, to watch you chase the dogs around the living room and chase bubbles through the air. To help you climb up and down the stairs as many times in a row as you want, or to let you hold your own cup full of water, knowing you’ll fall or spill if I’m not there to help you (but that the world won’t end if you do).
Because you’re strong.
You’re beautiful and happy and an absolute miracle. I love every day that I get to watch you smile.
I love that you cry for me when you need me and that the instant you feel me nearby, you calm. I hope that I can always be a source of strength and resilience for you. I hope that I am enough, and more than enough, to make you feel loved.
Because you are, sweet Franklin; you are so very loved.