Tonight I held you as we danced to Van Morrison in the kitchen. The sun streaked pink in the sky, and you rested your sweet cheek on my shoulder. I cried thinking of your first twelve months with us and how very quickly they streaked by before our eyes. There were also tears for everything that stretches out ahead of us, ahead of you.
I suspect most parents have an endless string of hopes for their children. Or maybe some parents have enough confidence in the universe, or the prime mover, or karma, or whatever, that they can have a very simple, yet fully complete list that their children are loved, happy and healthy. I hope those things too, but, it seems to me there is a constant connection between hopes and worries (at least for me).
So I have already hoped it all for you, because I have worried it all already. At least most of it.
I have worried about firsts – first steps, first days of school, first heartbreak, first jobs. I have worried about bullies, tests, boyfriends, sexting (I hope to God that is no longer a thing when you hit middle school), parties, body image, and drinking (please be smarter than your parents).
These worries keep me up at night for hours, and I know this is only the begining. I’ll lose many more hours of sleep dreaming up more worries for you. But sweet girl, to see you smile in the pink glow of our kitchen, my true hope is that you spend more moments with fewer worries and you focus on the business of life instead – to love.