Saint of the garden hose

Dear Ittybit,

This afternoon, after your nap from 2 to 4, we lounged around on the bed in our room. You switched on Winnie the Pooh even though you barely looked in the direction of the television. You wanted me to read to you.

For the first time in I don't know how many months, I had been engrossed in a book that contained no pictures or simple life lessons for you to study. Laying in that bed, with you comfortable in the crook of my arm, I didn't want to get up to find "Homemade Love," or "Little Badger," or "Where the Wild Things Are." I don't know what possessed me -- perhaps laziness -- to open my book and begin reading from the place I'd left off:

" The worst thing was lying there wanting my mother. That's how it had always been; my longing for her nearly always came late in the night when my guard was down. I tossed on the sheets, wishing I could crawl into bed with her and smell her skin. I wondered: Had she worn thin nylon gowns to bed? Did she bobby-pin her hair? I could just see her propped in bed. My mouth twisted as I pictured myself climbing in beside her and putting my head against her breast. I would put it right over her beating heart and listen. 'Mama?' I would say. And she would look down at me and say, 'Baby, I'm right here'."

-- The Secret Life of Bees
by Sue Monk Kidd

As you lay quietly in my arms, your hand resting on my own beating heart, you were perfectly still and content. I stopped reading and looked down at you just as you looked up at me. I was wondering what was keeping you from tearing at the pages, tearfully demanding something more appropriate. Something with happy colors and fluffy creatures and happy endings.

"Mama? ... I love you all day and night."

Is it any wonder I think you are lovely and amazing?

I love you, too, baby -- all day and all night.

- Mama