Dear Theta,
I don’t know how to explain our connection and my love for you other than we were made for each other.
We walked out of the dentist office last week and the words left my mouth before I realized I’d said it all wrong.
“You’re going to have surgery.”
You made a guttural yelp of pain that I’ve heard only a few times from you before. I knew I’d screwed it up. Instead of the slow dip into what I knew would be a rushing current of anxiety for you, I plunged you right in. Quickly, I got down at eye level with you and grabbed your hands.
“We’re going to get through this, I promise.” Slow, deep breaths. Steady hands.
We stayed locked like this for what seemed like forever. I tried to answer every question you had with reassurance but most importantly, with truth. Because I have never gotten anything past you. Not once. You can sniff out a lie from me, even one told to protect you, in an instant.
And this is why we need each other. Because I swear I will help you get to solid ground. Seeing anxiety rock your tiny heart daily nearly breaks mine. But I promise we will figure this out together and it won’t always be this hard.
Everyday as your mother is a call to live more authentically. You have this funny look you give me, your eyes darting to unseen points across my face. It feels like you’re peering around the mask. You forgive my inadequacies so effortlessly. At once, you make me feel like I am enough and like I want to be so much more for you.
I love you, my little pickle pot.
Forever and always,
Mama
