I love you so much it hurts. And that's such a fucked up cheesy thing to say. If you'd asked me four years ago, even when I was pregnant, even when I already loved you like crazy, I would have said that was a stupid thing to say. Who says that? Fucking soap operas and idiots, that's who.
But I do.
I can't help it.
I love you so much it fucking hurts. I can't imagine loving anyone on Planet Earth as much as I love you.
Since we've moved, you've been sleeping in my bed again. You say it was different when you were in the living room. Before you needed a drink I would know and now I don't know if you need a drink of water you told me. There's frogs under my bed and they scare me. There aren't any frogs under your bed. They won't get me with you.
Where did you ever get it into your head that you're afraid of frogs?
I don't like old people, you tell me. Old people die, and that's scary. I hate old people. Grandpa's dead. Grandpa's dead and his body's burned up but it's not his body but he's burned and I won't see him anymore. I hate old people. And I can see all the hurt and all the confusion and you just trying to figure things out and all I can do is love you. I love you so much that it hurts.
You're three. You'll be four soon enough. Three's not very old. But three's so very old. You speak in complete sentences. You can spell you name. You can even write it, if I sit next to you and tell you how.
You're so fucking smart. It blows my mind.
And I love you so much. And that blows my mind too.
You're like this little miniature of your father. You look so much like him it's uncanny. I'm constantly looking at you trying to understand how anyone can look so much like anyone else. Christ you even have his feet. I didn't even know that I knew what his feet looked like until you had them. You think about things the same way he does. I see it in your eyebrows, when you're thinking something through. And that's crazy.
If you don't know it already, you'll know soon enough: You're father and I? We're like oil and water. Nothing about us mixes together, unless you count the fact that we mixed together and made you. Just thinking about him makes me crazy, and just thinking about you makes me smile. And I still don't understand how that works. You make me crazy and you make me smile in the exact same instant. How do you do that? Tonight I was putting you to bed, and you patted my cheek in that special tender way you do, like you're the mom, and you're just looking out for me? That makes me cry. You've been doing it since before you could walk, since before you could crawl, and it still makes me cry. And I don't cry.
I love you so much it hurts. It hurts down in my soul, if I can ever figure out where my soul is.
I love you.