This is the best part of parenting,
when you are old enough to have your own
thoughts, your own way
that you smirk when you find something
funny, the way you look at me and giggle and wait
for my laugh, because how couldn't I find this life humorous?
This is the best part,
when you are old enough to want
to explore the world around you--
the way you can jump off the couch
and land with a KER-THUMP like Elmo,
smack on the back of the floor lined with your toys,
how you run, fast fast fast, your little legs
pumping the air sideways around your body
you fly, you smile, and you are the sun, and I am
healed by your light as you drift
to me, seeking my shade when you tire.
You shine onto a field, large and green,
as the wind whips in the nascent and waning days
of our brief Spring,
and as you run behind a ball, back and forth,
you are no longer the sun, but a grand show
pony, all knees up and proud trot.
I think about how one year ago your body didn't yet understand
the mechanism of how to run, and a year before that
your arms had just learned they could support your weight,
push you into sitting. The year before that,
you were no more than a bean
floating inside the constellations of my universe,
a little pod with sticks for arms and legs
on the darkness of an ultrasound screen.
And the year before that--
(there is very little that matters to me about my life before you.)
My heart cracks open and pours
onto the field, beneath your light,
blood and sweat and gratitude and fear and joy and pride and
love and love and love,
and love, more love than I've ever felt.