Since I was a little girl with legs swinging
under the table with a Happy Meal & wondering if all spinning wheels would make you sleep forever & ever, The Momma has been my most favorite person.
There was the year she was sick with cancer & I didn’t know how close I was to losing her, but I remember showing her my new plastic pony as she laid in a hospital bed & her telling me it was wonderful through the radiation burns.
There was the year I stubbornly refused to wear hair bows or open the car door to step into the ballet studio, & I know she felt like I was slipping away for the first time. I remember that all I ever wanted in those days was her to simply love me. & she did.
There were growing pains in college when I learned to stand independent from her, where I decided to drink beer too early & overdraft my account too often & be firm in my right to say “shit.” Those years were charged with emotion & forgiveness on both ends, but we shifted from mother & daughter to the best of friends.
She reminds me to wear lipstick & I’ve taught her that even the smallest babies matter forever, & she has remained the first person I call, only second to my husband.
Yesterday, we took vacation & drove to the outlet malls where we tried on blouses & fussed over jewelry & shared a cotton candy milkshake. At the end of the day, I kissed her cheek & silently thanked God for making her my momma.
& when my heart yearns for another boy & the rough & tumble of being the queen of a pack, a little piece of me flips inside at the thought that if I don’t have a little girl, I won’t share the magic of a momma & daughter when my own momma is gone.




























