Wilting, we begin again.

Over and over we begin again. Begin again. Begin again. A mantra that brings me back in moments that seem ruined. And I watch you watching me observing the way I begin again in the challenging moments when I’m not my best self, or rather when I’m not the version of myself that seems best. I watch you watching me and suddenly I witness you reflecting back what you see, and it’s the greatest gift to know that you feel safe enough to say, “Mama you can take a deep breath now.” You smile at me and we begin again.

Some days are just hard. They seem to come at random like a summer rainstorm after days of sunshine. But some of the sweetest moments come on these days, when our hearts are tender and we allow space for the closeness that can be felt in vulnerability.

On a particularly hard day, I don’t remember what happened, you lay on the floor at the top of the stairs, your little two and a half year old self in a puddle of tears. You look down at me and say in a tender voice, “Mama, I’m wilting.” I scoop you up, my little flower, and we hold one another in a pile on the floor. Wilted but together. And once again, we begin again.

Each night I tuck you into bed wrapping my arms around you and I whisper into your golden curls, “Who is in your heart?” I can feel your cheeks smile and you whisper back the names of all of your loved ones, “Mama is in my heart, Papa is in my heart, Omi is in my heart…”

I hope you remember these moments. I hope they imprint on your heart. I hope the slamming door and “why can’t you just listen?” and the tearful apologies, and us holding one another, both sorry and both ready to start over, I hope those moments, too, find a place in your heart. For through these mistakes and the healing that comes after, we both learn the wisdom that is forgiveness and the power that is love. And together we build a bond that is strong and real, vulnerable and human.