a mama’s heart

For now, my heart is 24 lbs 8 oz. They said this would happen.

It doesn’t happen right away, it doesn’t happen all at once. When I first met him on that Friday night in December he was a stranger. Each day after their first, more & more, they start to occupy all of your nooks & crannies, they begin to occupy the entirety of your heart. And so it goes, my heart grows.

When your heart is no longer inside of you, when it’s a green-eyed boy who babbles two syllable words (that really aren’t words) it’s all of a sudden not so hard to look outside of your self-seeking natural human state.

Last night we laid together. His head found itself on the corner of my pillow & against my cheek. His dimply knuckles rested on my hand, and my hand on his heart — rising & falling, rising & falling. I knew the moment would pass, it would all too soon be a memory. For now I get to hold him when his tummy hurts. For now he will hold my hand and share my pillow. For now, my scent is his refuge.

For now, this heart of mine is tied to me by a string because he needs me.

He has my heart & my heart is him.

He won’t always look to me when he falls, that’s not how it goes. One day down the road the string that connects me to my heart will be let go. He will pick his friends, explore what he loves & roam free — whether that’s on a recess playground or a college campus or a foreign country. One day he will give his heart to someone he loves, and so it goes, his heart will grow.

What they say is true: that fist-sized, pumping sack of blood is definitely outside of this mama. And for now, I get to hold him.