This evening you dried my tears.
It has been a hard week, and I collapsed on the couch
with fatigue and frustration. I couldn't help it. At first the tears welled up
in my eyes in big hot pools, and then once they started to fall I couldn't
control them and began to cry in earnest.
You have been constipated and had
asked for a diaper so you could squat under the end table and PUSH while you played
with your toys. When you realized I was crying you popped up and came running
over.
Patting my arm you said soothingly, "It's okay,
mama. You don't need to cry, mama." You searched my face with concern
written all over yours. "Sophia dry up the tears of mama," you
suggested. I smiled.
"You want to dry my tears? Want me to get you a
tissue?" I reached for the box on the table.
You clutched the tissue in your little hand and clumsily
but earnestly blotted my cheeks and eyes.
It was the most simple, loving gesture. I hugged and kissed you. "Thank you, baby," I whispered into
the hair at your temple. "You're my best."
