For my son (( and any girl who may break his heart ))

I have a new appreciation for snails and bugs

and all other slothy, jurassic-looking reptiles

that fall victim to my washing machine.

(( Thanks to pets in your pockets, son. ))
If my job is to remove the dead from our dryer,
I'll do it gladly.
I'll be the lizard morgue.

The truth is - my biological clock is ticking,
as I only have about 100 more days
of fertile tush-wiping
before you, my son, decide to reach back and do it yourself.
(( before you don't need me anymore )).
Your dad seems to think that this
current way of catering to your 6-year-old self
affords me nothing but the possibility of a boy
who's too lazy to do anything mom won't.
I disagree. (( I still need you too )).

While I do hope to graduate from the University of Charmin at Rear End,
It's been valuable practice for someday wiping away your tears of rejection.
If I'm there to wipe,
for sure,
I'll be the wiper.

This, of course, will come back in the form of my own tears,
the first time I drop you off at Lacrosse camp and have to walk away.
I know you're big, son,
but that's small compared to the ginormous moment this is for me.
(( It's bigger than the sun and the mountains ))
Still, if I have to leave,
I will.
I'll let go.

When I find you on my bedroom floor in the morning,
in your footed pajamas and with your bunny named Chocolate,
or when you call me from a sleepover and want to come home,
I'll scoop you up.
You're safe with me.
I'll be home.

I'll buy way too many bottles of vitamins
because you only like the purple ones
and I'll have a hard time buying you big boy sheets
when the Star Wars ones aren't cool anymore
but that's okay.
I'll grow up with you.
I'll be your friend.

When you get off track and throw rocks at your sister,
I'll smack the same tush that I once wiped.
It's my job to keep it clean.

If you don't even think you'll need me when your first love breaks your heart,
I'll still be there.
I'll be the girl who was your first love anyway.

When you're so mad at me that your little face gets red
and your body is about to explode,
remember that I squeezed you out of my belly.
(( it hurt )).
I'm your Mom.

This might sound like a lot that I do for you,
but I don't how to be someone who's not your Mom.
You love me in the mornings when I'm not pretty,
when I'm stinky and sweaty
and when I'm not doing my job very well -
you're so forgiving.
I learn from your simplicity and your unconditional love.
I'm your student.

And when you're running around town in your car,
taking girls on dates, driving through fast food at midnight in college,
and I'm not there,
(( of course I am ))
I hope you pause and think of me -
the lizard Morgue,
the Wiper,
the Home,
the Friend,
the one who lets you go,
the Love,
the Student,
the Mom
-Yours.

(( p.s. Don't grow up ))

giving birth to Pluto (( how our ovaries remind us of bigger things ))

When I gave birth to a little girl,

I thought of pink and pig tails and tutus

and all the splendor that 'girl' entails.

I never thought about how I was giving birth to a woman -

a planet of yet-to-be-discovered beauty -

One that would teach me more about the woman I am than anything else.

The truth is, as instinctual as it was for me to become the mother I thought I'd be,

I was not prepared for what would happen to ME when my daughter started puberty.

(( Yes, the big dot ))

Running the gamut from lonely to challenging to wonderful,

I am completely and utterly enveloped in the beauty of this daunting responsibility.

How could I ever be so lucky to help my daughter understand how her body works?

(( and do I really know how?))

After a warm bath and some essential oils rubbed on her belly,

I thought about her little ovaries,

how beautiful it is that my body made her body with the ability to 

someday make the same miracle.

I thought about the color pink and how cute it used to be

and how there will soon be 50 shades of it all over my living room couch.

I thought about myself at her age,

the little girl that relates to her confusion,

and how that person doesn't even seem like she's a part of this lifetime of mine-

though every piece of her tween-size awkwardness and insecurity undoubtedly are.

I thought about the (dwarf) planet, Pluto,

and how, on July 14 of this year (5 days from now),

NASA's New Horizons space craft will reach it's atmosphere

after a decade of being adrift in search of it's wonder.

I'd use this analogy to explain to my girl that 

there is a large undiscovered world out there,

and that it takes what feels like many lifetimes - 

many atmospheres -

before you actually feel like you've earned your wings

as a confident woman.

I explained that the search, the journey to get to Pluto

is like the body's journey through the years.

"My ovaries are in flight mom?"

Precisely!

Pluto rotates in the opposite direction from Earth,

 much slower,

and it's sun rises and sets in opposite directions from ours.

This reminds me how different my little body was from hers,

how our different personalities will collide throughout the years 

and create such a beautiful mess in its wake,

and yet how similar the wonder of women can be,

how spectacular motherhood is.

Periods take the place of pig tails

and undiscovered Pluto becomes "so yesterday, mom",

and all the while,

I am so here for her journey,

the one that made up for the one I flew through blindfolded,

too young and innocent to discover until two decades later.

And then I am reminded of my mother,

the one who flew to Pluto and back with me three-fold,

 who's still here to marvel at the wonders no telescope can see -

the ones we live through together.

To all the women, moms and daughters in the Universe

with love,

here's to discovering all that's unknown, together.

~ L ~

(( coincidentally, an 11-year old girl named Venetia Burney came up

with the name Pluto for the planet when it was first discovered in 1930 ))