Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there – and to those dads, grandparents, aunts, and uncles playing the part of mom. This should be a Mother’s Day post, shouldn’t it? Well, maybe it is, sort of.
Daddy sends my eight year old a voice message every night. Every. Single. Night. And every night, Daddy says, “I love you!” in the most lighthearted, uplifting tone. He’s a reassuring voice in a slightly chaotic world for my oldest. The other night, I heard those words, and something inside of my heart broke apart. It had to break apart because joy and happiness overflowed. My existing heart couldn’t contain the emotions. (I know how the Grinch must have felt, feeling his heart grow three sizes. Mine grew at least another size.)
I have loved Daddy for himself for a long time. I’ve loved him as my Daddy and my Dominant for a long time. And I love him as the man who will act as protector and guide to two little boys who have the greatest need. He doesn’t have to do this – and yet he chooses this. He chooses me. He chooses them. There is something overwhelmingly wonderful about knowing that you’ve been chosen.
The boys’ father (and I use the term loosely) says all the right words about loving and missing them, but his actions (or lack thereof) speak volumes. The boys were stuck with their father by a fluke of birth. He will be “Dad” until they decide he isn’t. But my Daddy chose me, and he chose my boys. Those boys are not a burden to him. He’s walking into this life with the three of us with eyes, arms, and heart wide open.
My mind cannot conceive of it. And my heart cannot contain the pure, unadulterated happiness of knowing my babies are chosen by this great man who simply wants to love me and them.
Ever since my heart cracked open, I’ve cried at the drop of a hat. I imagine riding on the back of Daddy’s motorcycle – I can almost feel the air rushing past us – and I sob. I imagine walking hand-in-hand, and I cry. I see myself cooking dinner, making his coffee, and lecturing him when he forgets to eat, and I can’t stop smiling. And I can’t stop crying. Because he chose me; he chose us.
I think about school plays, honor roll assemblies, ball practice, first dates, late nights, illness, and I realize that I’m no longer alone. The boys aren’t alone. They have someone other than just their paranoid mom who worries about every single thing. They have the best person to show them what it means to be a good man.
So, I guess this is a Mother’s Day post because the best gift I could give myself today is my Daddy and the future we’re creating for one another. God, I love that man.