To My daughter on My Second Mother's Day:

Last year, I wrote a blog post titled To My Daughter on My First Mother's Day. 

In it, I wrote about my scorn for the plethora of social media and blog posts touting that all a mother could want for Mother's Day is a day away from their children. In it, I described the love and adoration I had for you, Aurora, my 9-month-old daughter, about how much you depend on me for safety, comfort, food, etc. And how I never wanted for a minute for you to think that a gift that I could possible want is for you to leave me alone. 

Well, a year has elapsed and my immobile infant from last year is now a running, climbing, screaming, demanding toddler. You are 21 months old, nearly a 2-year-old, and you hit, yell, scream, cry, climb, jump, leap, balance, roll, and you laugh until you fart. 

You also dance, sing, talk, you ask for help, gives hugs and kisses, tell us that you loves us. You likes to sit on the bathrooms sink while I do my makeup and mimic the movements I make with the makeup brushes on your own face. You likes to brush her teeth. You love to swim in your old baby whale tub on the balcony of our third-floor apartment. You likes to pretend to sweep and mop. 

There was a moment a few weeks ago when your dad was stroking my arm with his hand for a few seconds as we were saying goodnight. You saw us and immediately mimicked the movement on your own arm. Since then, every now and then, when we're cuddling or nursing, you'll grab my fingers and run them along you arm, the same way you saw your dad affectionally doing to me, so many nights ago. 

This is how you show love. This is how you see love. So this is what love is to you. 

While there are moments where I do wish I could sleep in past 8am, where I wish I could sleep all the way through the night, where I wish I could eat a meal sitting down, uninterrupted. There are moments where I wish I could soak in Lush-bath-bomb-infused water for 30-45 minutes. There are moments where I wish I could blow-dry and straighten my hair, apply my makeup, and get dressed without worrying about you sitting on the bathroom sink and accidentally burning you while you INSIST on playing with my $20 makeup brushes and $30 face powder. 

Alas, these are just moments. They are fleeting moments that disappear as quickly as they come, and while I sometimes wish for quiet, peaceful moments, I only wish for them in moments of chaos. When I have them, I feel lonely, I feel sad, and I wish to pick you up from daycare early, so that I could hold you, squeeze you, and stroke your arm with my fingers. 

So, this year, May 2017, on my second ever Mother's Day, I want to say again, that Mother's Day is more than fancy meals and gifts. I love my gift "from you". Remember that I don't NEED anything from you but your continued love and affection, your trust, and the unbreakable bond that we share. 

You make me such a better version of myself, Auri. Not the BEST version, by no means. I'm still working on being better. I will always work to be better. For you, for your dad. For all of us. 

xo