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Liz Fink-Davenport
What small smile starts in your heart when you hear your child’s name?
I’m sitting cross legged and running my fingers through hair that is as familiar as mine. DNA being redistributed through a small electric current that is solely yours and theirs. The smell of this smaller being is a hard earned fist clinched. That moment you held a blanket that was breathing and you took in the scent of them and you fell madly in love. How can a tiny angry boiled looking pink wiggling thing elicit love? Because this is a piece of your heart walking around on this earth outside of your chest. Independent footprints in mud. Dirty fingernails on chubby fingers. Drool on your shoulder that smells like milk and you both adore it and cry over it. And you will always smell like Goldfish crackers and spit. But this is what you should know, it changes. The clock in the hall moves faster than you. It speeds up and the nap turns into the walk to school turns into the sleepovers turns into the cat’s cradle turns into the can I drive turns into the mom I’m in love turns into the hold your grandbaby turns into I will care for you mom turns into don’t go yet turns into my baby is holding me.
Sweet little one who wants braids tonight, I’ll braid. I’ll hum. I’ll say the goodnight prayer. The one that asks Jesus to take your soul if you don’t wake. But I won’t mean it. I’ll ask Jesus to take me long before you, my growing up angel. Because I have one purpose on this Earth and it’s to be here until you are strong enough not to need me. And tonight you need braids. So this night is not it. The small smile starts at the corners of my mouth and rolls up and around your name.
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