Child of mine, do you realize that I've been listening since I knew of your existence?
I knew you were there by the sheer fact of what you took from me, my very blood which you stock piled for yourself. With every heave of nausea. Lying in bed with daddy asleep while your jellyfish flutters let me know you were still there. When you grew hands and feet and pummeled my insides like you were training for a title match. You stretched me and grew me and pushed me to limits I didn't know existed. Then when you were done with me you broke out and rushed into this world squalling and bloody and needy.
Demanding, so demanding. And forcing me to listen...
Sleepless nights, listening when you cried, listening when you breathed. Listening as you grew and learned to tell me, "No," and "Momma," and "Love you."
Do you know I could pick your cry out from all of the other babies? Your laugh, your hiccup, all unique to you and recognizable to me as your own.
Then school and friends and more listening. And one day you bought into the lie that is crammed down your throat by tv and books and music and peers, that this is how it has to be. This not understanding and not listening to you. You believe them when they say that we can't possibly get along. You wait for that moment when the music gets sappy and we sit on the couch and talk it all out and you get your way.
You don't realize that I've been where you are. That you're more like me than either of us wants to admit. That I'm not trying to get you to see things my way, but His Way. That I haven't stopped living and making mistakes and learning.
And I'm still listening.