Eight years with her
I’m greedy
I want them all
in reverse
on repeat
over and over
She’s perhaps the version of me
who was never silenced
or at least I like imagining her (and me) that way
because I do try my hardest not to dull her sparkle
She’s so bright, she glows from within
A girl, unafraid to be who she is
When I first brought her home from the hospital she would smirk and laugh
as she went down for her naps
I’d never seen an infant do that before
I brought her to a funeral for my dear friend’s son
when she was just a few weeks old
and I remember
her sleepy smile
piercing through
The deep, uncurable sadness of the room
She’s always been my jokester
As she got older in her high chair she’d never sit normally
She’d always have one leg up in the air while she ate
and she’d crawl under the dining room table just to steal my socks
When she was learning to speak
I’d ask her to say certain words
and she’d say the opposite
I’d plead with her to say my name, and she’d say “papa” every time
There’s a video of me asking her to brush her teeth
and every time I do, she says “no, mama no” and shuts the door to her room She knows she’s being funny
so she opens and shuts the door many times for the chance
to make the same joke
And even now, she treats me like her little kitten
licking my arm, or maybe she’s marking her territory
I tell her she’s too old to be doing that
She says, “I don’t care”
She slaps my butt so hard until I have to tell her she’s eight
and doesn’t know how strong she is
She doesn’t know it
But I mean it
She’s strong in a way I never was
She says what she means
She loves fiercely
She knows who she is and what she wants
She tells me I’m weird when I’m being weird
She writes me love poems
The other day she told me I’m a miracle; that most kids would have to
wish on a star for a mom like me
but she’s lucky because she got me and didn’t have to wish
I love you, Alba
You are the daughter I wished for and got
I’m so glad you let me be silly beside you for eight years and counting
