To my daughter on her first Presidential Election

Barack Obama campaigning at UTPA (UTRGV). February 2008. Photo c/o myself.

A,

When you were born, the person who was in office as leader of the United States, a person that theoretically was assumed to represent every single American citizen to the rest of the world, was Barack Obama, the first Black president to ever be elected to hold this position.

Your father and I were on the lawn at the undergraduate university we both attended while he was campaigning back in February of 2008. We listened as he spoke of change, dignity, and honor. We felt proud of the direction this country was going, we felt moved by the notion that finally, nearly 50 years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, we were finally moving in a direction that said that people of color, not just white people, could do anything. His speech spoke of change, and noted his investment in making higher education an affordable opportunity for all. We chanted with the crowd of nearly 500 people, "Si se puede!", in the hopes that, yes, we can move in a direction of growth and opportunity for all.

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. 

To my Daughter on her first Father's Day

You are 10 months old and you learned how to say “dada” this week, just in time for your first Father’s Day. Your father is ecstatic. He even said “I love her so much more now that she can say Dada”. Your father has a funny sense of humor like that. 

Father’s Day has never been anything really special for me. I only lived with my dad for a short period and even then, he usually worked 12-14 hours/day, 80hrs/week, so he never really played an active role in my daily life. Anyway, that’s a completely different topic.

To my daughter on my first Mother's Day:

In the weeks leading up to this day, May 8th, 2016, I've seen countless lists circulating the internet for things to get mom for Mother's Day. Discounted kitchenware, personalized jewelry, spa days, clothing, shoes, accessories, flowers, you name it. All in the name of celebrating mothers. 

I've even seen lists claiming what moms REALLY want for Mother's Day: to sleep in, uninterrupted by children asking for things, to not have to cook or clean up the mess caused by breakfast-in-bed, or to be left alone to have quiet time. 

As I’m writing this, you’re sleeping next to me. Your arms are sprawled out at your sides. Your right hand is barely touching my left arm. That small touch, even as you sleep, is comforting you. You know that I’m near and it helps you sleep better. Even for me, knowing that you’re near me helps me sleep better. 

You are only 9 months old today, but when you’re old enough to read this, to fully comprehend the message I’m trying to convey, I hope that you understand that I don’t want or need any gifts from you to show your appreciation and love for me. I hope that by the time you read this, you know that just your time and thoughtfulness is all I need to feel special. 

I don’t ever want you to believe for a second that what I want is to be without you. I don’t want to sleep in if it means missing out on breakfast with you. I don’t want to get my nails done or a spa treatment if it means my time will be without you. I would not be a mother if it weren’t for you. This is as much of a day to celebrate you as it is to celebrate me. Mother’s Day should be a day that we spend together, showing how grateful we are for each other. 

Before you were born, it was my body that carried you. As soon as that test came back positive, I became a mother. Everything changed in those first few moments before I shared the news with your father. In those moments, we were alone. Though you were just a cluster of cells, it was just the two of us. In the following months, every fiber of my being was spent to ensure that you were developing and growing normally. I worried for you, about your safety, about your comfort. I cried for you in fear that you weren't safe.

At 40 weeks and 3 days (mas o menos) I labored and you were born. It was into my arms that you were placed. I was the first person to hold you, your first moments in this world were spent on my chest, my warmth regulating your body temperature. I have provided you with all of the nourishment you’ve needed to grow fast and grow strong with my body alone (so far). I comfort you to sleep every night. My face is the first one that you see in the morning. You are a part of me as much as I am a part of you.

There will come a day where you don’t need me anymore. You won’t depend on me for food. You won’t want to sleep next to me. Your face may not always brighten when I enter a room. You will learn to crawl and then to walk and you won't long for my arms to carry you anymore. 

There will be moments where I annoy you, disappoint you, hurt you. You better believe that none of this will be intentional. I hope that you never feel scared or embarrassed to share your feelings with me, to let me know that I've made you feel anything less than loved. And you better believe that I will do everything in my power to correct that. You may at times be angry with me, you might even think or say you hate me. Growing up and finding your place in the world is hard. It’s made more difficult if you have parents that don’t always let you do what you want to do or buy you the things you want them to buy. But don’t for a second ever feel that I don’t love you, that I don’t like you, or that I don’t want to just *be* with you. 

Your dad is your everything. You adore him and he is head over heals in love with you. He is your rock. However, there are still quiet moments that are just of us, darling. There are sweet minutes of nursing, feeding, bathing, and sleeping that are just Mommy and you. I know that it's not always going to be just us. There will come a time when you are ready to leave us, your father and me. You will go to college or find a job, find love. One day, if it's something you want, you might even become a mother yourself. It will be then that you truly and completely understand the overwhelming love that I have for you. In that moment, I know that I have done my job right. 

Mother’s Day is more than just fancy dinners, presents, and flowers. It’s about what makes us mothers at all: that’s our children. It’s the intense unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. It’s the fierce dedication and pure joy that I feel in my heart every time you learn something new, every time you smile or laugh, every time you get up after you fall. 

I wouldn’t be a mother without you. Every Mother's Day that we share together, you should know that I'll thankfully accept any gift you decide to give me, small or large, handmade or store-bought. I will marvel at the effort and the thoughtfulness that went into your choice. But I also need you to know that your love is the true gift. And so, on our first Mother’s Day together, I want you to know that I love you so incredibly much, and that there’s nothing in this world that I want more than your happiness and joy.