missionmightymom

Daughters,

Mommy here. Once again proclaiming my love for you. When you are older this kind of stuff will embarrass you, so I am taking advantage of the fact that you cannot yet read and to my knowledge, do not yet know how to surf the net (although it wouldn’t surprise me if you could).

Last night was a rough one. I was exhausted. We were all impatient. And selfish. And irritable. And guess what- I loved you more in those moments than I did the day before. That is what is so amazing and miraculous and incomprehensible about a Mommy’s love. We think when we first lay eyes on you, when we hear your first cry, that we cannot possibly love another person more than we do at that moment. And then we do. Again, and again, and again. Every second of every day I love you more.

Harper, when you climb to the tippy-top of the kidscape at Chik-fil-et because you aren’t ready to leave, forcing me to climb in after you…I love you more.

Aniston, when I find you inside the refrigerator for the 5th time in one day eating the entire package of cheese slices…I love you more.

Harper/Aniston (maybe both-the jury is still out), while I am proud of your creative and artistic abilities, I don’t appreciate the fact that you have taken to using your bedroom doors as canvas…but I still love you more.

Aniston, when you are running laps around our table at the restaurant, or having to “go potty” in between every bite, when all I want to do is eat my meal…I love you more.

Harper, when you are taunting your sister, and yes, you know what taunting means so please don’t tell me again (with a smirk on your face) that you don’t…I love you more.

Aniston, when you are climbing in my cabinets, on my cabinets, or hanging from my cabinets…I love you more.

Harper, when I come into your room for the third time in the morning to find that you have once again turned off the light, climbed back in bed, and hid your body under a sea of blankets…I love you more.

Aniston, when you come out of your room at 10pm when you should have been asleep for hours, wearing a tutu and tennis shoes and carrying a guitar…I love you more.

And when you spill your drink (accidently/on purpose), throw a fit in public, hurt my feelings, make me question everything I thought I knew as a mom, when you cry because the corn is touching your rice and your rice is touching who knows what, when nothing I do seems right, when I’m at my wits end, when you flush puzzle pieces down the toilet subsequently flooding the bathroom, when you tackle our old man dog, when you paint the table with spaghetti sauce, or pretend that you can’t hear me, or run when I call your name…I will always and forever love you more than I did before.

And that’s a promise!