You Are My Only

This feels significant.

All of your firsts are lasts.

All of your lasts are lasts.

All of the moments they speak of are the most rawest truest purest form of significant. There is no one else tugging at my pants, stealing my attention, begging for more of me. I am all in with you. And I like that.

It's you. Your dad. And me. Every good moment and bad. It's us. As you hopped around the backyard tonight stealing lightning bugs from the sky and teaching us facts about them, it hit me in that space below the heart but above the stomach where feelings are felt in the most spiritual sense. The space where truth lies. It hit me there.

You are my only.

You define motherhood singularly. That tilted head look from a stranger today with the..."You'd better hurry up and have another" or the "don't you want another one?" Those questions are insignificant compared to the overwhelming feeling of joy, vulnerability, happiness and laughter you have provided me.

You are my only and I promise to give you everything intangible within me. It won't always be perfect for everyone, but it sure will be perfect for us.

You are my only.

And I love it.