Mother Note

When you saw me for the first time, you were so full of love. A smile that could have blinded a thousand people spread across your face, and it was so beautiful. You were full of joy and gratefulness. 

When I woke up for the first time in the middle of the night, crying, and wailing, you were so full of distress. You caressed my head in the deep dark and sang me lullabies, trying to soothe me with tears running down your face, but you still looked beautiful to me. You were my whole world. 

My first word was about my shoes. Blue shoe! 

I waddled across our scratchy carpet, plopping myself down in front of our Italian vintage shoe rack. I cried out when I sat on the floor, poking and prodding the wooden structure. Blue shoe! 

I was talking about my small, baby blue crocs lined with fuzz. You laughed and your eyes filled with tears of joy. 

Blue shoe!

Of course, I don’t remember this. I feel like I do, you’ve told me about it so many times. 

When I took your expensive shampoo and your pink lip gloss to make potions, you did not get mad at me. You picked me up and spun me around, your sundress twirled around your bare ankles. You laughed and bounced me up and down on your knee, and he videotaped it. We still have it in our basement on a tape, gathering dust somewhere. 

The afternoon of my tenth birthday was when I wore makeup for the first time. He looked at me and smiled. The skin around his eyes crinkled in the way they still do now. He never saw me the same after that. I reminded him too much of you. I wish I could go back to before he saw me as you. 

When you held me and stroked my hair when I got my first period, I melted into you. I couldn’t stop crying, tears constructed of blood streaming down my face. I felt connected to you in a way I never did. Is this what womanhood feels like? Is this what life will become? I didn’t like it. Why am I bleeding? 

When you hugged me tight as I sobbed into your arms over and over again, what did you feel? A blubbering mess of a child in your arms, repeating herself over and over.

“I loved him.” 

Did you relate to me? Were you reminded that you were me once? 

When I showed you my prom dress, you teared up. He said the same thing he said the first time I put on makeup. 

You look like your mother. 

You hugged me and kissed my forehead. My beautiful girl. My beautiful, beautiful girl. 

When you cried in my arms, I held you. I hugged you tight. I stroked your hair, in the brown shade we both shared. It was muscle memory, comforting each other. I knew how you felt. You didn’t ask for this, none of us did. You held my hand and apologized for being weak in front of me. I didn’t care. No matter how many times you yelled at me, you know me. Better than I know myself. I wonder if I will ever know you that way. 

When you see me, what do you feel? Are you proud or are you jealous? Or are you even resentful? 

There’s a part of you that’s resentful. I know it. What did you want? Where are you off to, lady?

I know you once had your own aspirations and dreams. You wanted to be a journalist. You wanted to travel the world. You wanted to become a writer at the New York Times. I’m sorry. 

It’s okay if you resent me. I don’t mind it at all, my beautiful, beautiful mother.