I do and I will.

MarchMadness 034 

My Mom decided to put 15 years 10 months between myself and my first sister, who is now 7, (they have a different Dad) and then she had an emergency c-section with my baby sister, on my (our birthday) – so we are exactly 20 years apart – to the day. We were both born on March 29th and weighed 2 ounces and 1.5 inches in difference.

We did a little family party for my sister on Sunday and my Mom presented me, late (yeah you’re not getting off that easy), with my birthday present. She is a jewelry maker extraordinaire and made me a breathtaking three strand freshwater pearl and crystal necklace and matching earrings to boot. It’s lovely.

She presented me with this card… that was the most heartfelt – most well thought out card I’ve ever received in my life, and instead of going into my “tin”, which is like the Card Graveyard in my house for all of the cards I do not want to get rid of because they mark moments in time when somebody else had to think about me, for whatever reason, I’ve kept all of them… it has earned a place on my fabric and ribbon covered corkboard over my desk… it made me tear up and shocked a few of our family members who didn’t expect us to hug or make nice after how, well, rocky, our relationship has been that lead me to where I am today.

It truly made me cry…but it also made me think.

My husband and I have a daughter who we had when I was only two years older than my Mom was when she gave birth to me. I look at my daughter every day and sometimes I notice the way her hair falls in her face and I see the way she almost angrily shoves it out of her line of sight. I see how she tries so hard to dress up and look pretty when nobody is looking and I see the light blush of embarrassment on her face when I catch her dressing up or trying to put make-up on…and I don’t ever really stop to think that she is going to grow up… I don’t ever stop to think that she is someday meet a boy, and fall in ‘love’… she’s going to have her first date… she’s going to move out of my house… she might keep a secret from me… she might feel like I don’t understand her, but God I do…oh God I do… I imagine us having a conversation when she is a teenager where I divulge all of this to her and just how deeply I understand… but then I’m interrupted with “Mommy… Mommy! My room is clean(t)!” and I see a pink stuffed bunny sticking out from under the bed…

I realize that exact scenario, in its first “degree” is already happening – and I already do understand her…

Tomorrow is another day and in May she’ll be five years old – and yesterday she was a wet and slimy little baby in my young husbands arms in a waiting room where anxious family crowded around him to get a peak at the first-born daughter/granddaughter.

One morning I’m going to wake up and her Dora bedroom will be gone, the butterfly headboard won’t be there anymore and the vanity will have the butterflies stripped from it’s screw-heads and there will be some boys name written in lipstick or in colored markers on the mirror face…I’ll overhear a conversation where she tells her girlfriend “They just don’t understand me…” But I do… and I will

That morning is not tomorrow – but one day, it will be.


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