Beliefnet
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
him.

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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