Baby H
I know you will not be a baby forever. One day you will grow up and read this and roll your eyes like your mother* does. And then you will laugh at this Mavshi of yours, an even louder laughter. I also fear you'll stop visiting me for my soppy attempt at trying to word what I felt when I first met you.
*Your mother the only goddess of sarcasm and baking I know. Your mother and I, whose friendship is now ancient.
You were an year old. An unbridled bundle of joy. The happiness you radiated when you threw your little hands around my neck, the safety you felt when I pretended to throw you towards the ceiling (a silly game humans play with their tiny offspring), still bring smiles and tears of warmth and joy to my eyes. The entire hour spent around you made me forget the burden of being a grown up.
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| my little money <3 |
A grown up who constantly worried about how can she be a part of your world, your mother's world.
But there you were. More welcoming than my anxieties.
My insecurity. Insecurity of how to fit in. To belong.
But there you were. Laughing that innocent laugh of yours, giggling to yourself for no reason. Telling me you don't have to worry around me to belong.
Come, be a part of my antics, you said. Outrun me just in time to save the kitchen utensils from an utter disaster. Those mischievous yet cherubic eyes of yours baiting me with your next great adventure.
I still carry the smile you passed on to me that day. Imagining it would be a good idea to have you around all the time. And I started to hope for your mother to move nearer to me. You may have realized grown ups are selfish. Rightfully so, if the reward they get is spending time with you.
My next mission is to teach and introduce you to all the amazing fairy tales and harry potter and Carl Sagan (And you can confirm this when you read them). Of course I'll have to wait for a couple of years. Until then I'll make do with being a part of your adventures.