Disclosure: This is a sponsored post and I received a free book to review, but all opinions expressed here are mine.
She sits there in the corner crawled up in a ball. Her leg is dangling off the pink bean bag as melodic music fills the air. You recall holding her and rocking her. You remember watching each breath as it left her body. The rise of her chest, the excitement in yours, the fall of her chest and the apprehension in yours as you waited for it to rise again. You would continue to spend countless hours watching for that miracle of breath.
She asked you yesterday if you still loved her even after she broke that trinket. You watched as her eyes brimmed with tears. Her hands shook as she presented it splintered to you. The same fall and rise in her chest accelerated with anticipation of your move this time.
You take on a look and are reminded of the sweet smell of her skin the soft cushion of her cheek next to yours. The endless hours wondering how someone you had never met before could be everything to you. You rocked on reading that book, those words, hoping, praying that every last one would be engraved in her heart.
You often close your eyes still and wonder where the years have gone. How one day has moved into a week and that week rolled into a year.
You hear her voice echo in your head when you are sleeping. The way her legs used to uncurl when she yawned after sleep. The same sleep that evaded you rest comfortably on her.
You think about the hours you have spent researching, reading, inquiring to make sure she had everything she needed. You weren’t sure if you did it right. If you are doing it right but you know one thing, if trying was winning you are in first place.
You find your mind wandering as it often does to her care. You think to yourself what will be the difference between her success and her failure?
You hear her voice asking you to read that book one more time as she climbs on your lap. You hear her sweet voice as she repeats each word as if she is reading. She embraces the melody of the prose as graciously and naturally as the waves deliver water to the beach the same symphony is natural to her and you both. It is your song.
She is once again close to you as her weight pressed against your chest and you read to her once more. You remember the millions of times you have read this book to her. The endless hours in the rocking chair. You read again and again in your mind grateful she isn’t old enough to read the book herself because you still want to do something for her.
You begin to read. She follows. You read faster. She anticipates the next word as you struggle to breathe, your baby is growing up.
You hope she will follow your guidance. You use your time each night starting with this book to confirm your love to cement it in a place that is so deep and so firm that the earthquake of other children will not shake your love for her and her love for herself. You want her to know how much you love her. You want her to be swaddled with each word as she grows.
You have found this communication tool between two covers and flimsy paper. The paper possesses the power to convey what you want to say.
You will carry this book forever. You will one day not need it as the prose become your voice in her heart. You will leave the book in places when she needs to hear what you aren’t sure how to say. You will send this book with her to school on her first day or even a note with a passage. You will put it in her first care package for college.
You will buy her this book when the single best thing happens to her. When she finds the love that has no reason, no end, no limit. The most powerful, beautiful, empowering love of all when she gives birth to him or her.
You will give this gift because it means the most. It will be the tradition of your family.
The one gift that will transcend all time and place. It is this book. This very one that will get you through the beginning, middle, and all of the in-between of life together. It will be your special thing. The time that binds you the words that will escape your lips when you aren’t sure what to say and the mantra that she will draw on when she needs to hear them.
It will be your song. The one thing that only you share. The thing you will need as the world changes and you need something to stay the same something to stay between you.
This is your gift. The gift a mother gives, a friend gives to a mother it is more than a book it is the whisper we can’t forget to hear.