Every single morning, before I leave my apartment, I open my daughter’s bedroom door, and trip my way to her bed, to kiss her, hug her, and tell her I love her, and wish her a great day.
I don’t care if I leave at 3:30am, to hit the gym, before work, or if it’s 9am on a Saturday, and I’m off to run errands.
This morning, as I walked into her room, my heart swelled bigger than any other time I’ve looked at her, recently.
She is so grown up, when she is awake. She is a teenager, through and through. She’s a smart ass. (wonder where she got that from?) She is so smart, and so funny, speaks fluent sarcasm, and basically, she is my favorite human being.
But today, when I walked into her bedroom, and she was laying, like a toddler, on her tummy, legs pulled in, and face to the side, all I could think was “my baby.”
So innocent, and beautiful, and in such a state that I could ALMOST pretend like she hasn’t gone through absolute hell, losing her father.
I don’t know how better to put into words the overwhelming love I have for my child. To protect her without hovering. To trust her to make the right decisions, and to come to me when she isn’t sure. To believe in her, 100%, and still help guide her without telling her what to do.
I never, in a million years, thought I would be a “single” widowed mom, of a teenager. Not JUST a teenager, but a teenage GIRL!
I always thought “oh thank God I have Mitch! He will be the perfect daddy through Meg’s years when she hates me!” Because there comes a point, in every teenage girl’s life that she hates her mom. Well, a majority.
So, what do I do now, if she gets to a point where she hates me?
I don’t have her dad, here. I mean, she could think “what would Dad do if he were here?” But, she IS a teenager.
I just know, without a doubt in my mind, I will go through hell and back as many times as I need to, to keep her safe. Period.
She has my whole heart.
All of it.
Every bit that’s left. It’s hers.