Their Bad Mother

It’s Jasper’s second birthday. I would be celebrating, if I weren’t sniffling fat, maudlin tears into my Cabernet.

I love that he’s getting bigger, that he’s turning into a boy, I do.
But also, I hate it. I hate it because he’s my baby, he’s my last baby,
and I love his baby-ness, and it breaks my heart to lose it, to lose

jasper two
He blows kisses at me, and my heart swells with happiness, and then the swell starts to hurt, a little, and I have to stop, turn around, take a breath, and remind myself that a swelling heart is a big heart, a loving heart, and that the pain is worth it, always worth it, and that he’ll always be my baby, no matter what. I tell myself that, and I believe it, I do.

But still. I keep a tissue at hand, for those stray tears.

(Happy birthday, baby boy.)


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