You, my dear, are the accumulation of generations loving without seeing, loving without judging, loving in the face of every wall, brick, and cruel word thrown their way. You are your fathers daughter, first born, my sunlight, my morning, noon and stars. Waking has never been so beautiful, you are wise beyond my comprehension, always smiling, knowing. Singing with laughter for the new day, greeting me with open palms, gently touching my face. I close my eyes, melting into your soul as your warm hands trace your lineage and my age. I am your mother, the one who gave you life, the one who bore you beneath my heart, tucked away for safe keeping. You know me, and I know you like only a mother could, without words. You grin and find my breast and once again we are one, connected, my life flowing through you, giving you life and morning. We’re quiet as the sun pours in though the windows, softly coating your skin with it’s warm glow, silently speaking. I am thankful to those who came before me, for those who perpetuated life through the ages. A vast culture of mothers who birthed new life that spanned the globe. German, Dutch, American Indian, East Indian, Caribbean, African, Aztec Indian, Spanish. All mothers, connected as family down through the generations. 

        You look into the mirror, not knowing the weight of the faces past, staring back at you in your reflection. All these cultures, people who make up your beautiful face. They run through your veins, smile through your laughter, gleam with pride in all that is you. I hope you know that you are beautiful, not because you’re mine, but because you are, as everyone before you was, as everyone after you will be. Lessons live on in our Cultures. Always see the beauty, in everyone and in everything. Live spherically, and in many directions. Love without prejudice. Befriend without judgment. Welcome a stranger into your home. Let food fill you, heal you, and be your medicine. Treat others as you would treat yourself. Respect your elders. Live knowing that every breath, is a fragile gift.  

        We move through the light of day much like I did when I was pregnant with you, snuggly  tucked into me. Leaving the warmth of the car, my feet hit the ground, hard and cold.  The air stings and bites, unfamiliar, as you bury your face into my chest I whisper “it’s just the cold, even it has its place.” The cold gives birth to new life, all that is dead and gone will be reborn in the warmth of spring. You’ll change with the seasons, growing long and tall, turning into the great woman you are destined to become.

Walking through the field I think about all the things I’ve learned in my short twenty eight years. I’ll teach you all that I know in hopes that you’ll hold onto my words. We’re deeply connected to this earth and everyone around us, just as I am to you. So be kind to it, and it’ll be kind to you. Kindness spreads like wildflowers, so give it freely and without expectation. 

        I can’t wait to watch you be young, run, climb endless trees, you’re free! Free you to do whatever you please, so yell, cry, sing at the top of your lungs, upset convention, stand up for what you believe in. I’ll be there with you along the way, rooting you on, backing you up, kissing your bruises, encouraging you to get back up and try, try again. All the while glowing, you are my daughter, because I’ve loved without judging and because your father loves me, just as he loves you. We can’t wait to give you all the best pieces of us. Our little Eleanor, a big name for such a little girl, but we know who you are. You’re a brilliant little mix of everyone around you. We can’t wait to watch you make your way through this life. 

        But for now stay close little one, so I can hear you breathe. Inhaling as you exhale, taking in your sweetness. Time is fleeting, so I’ll keep these memories with me. 

Love. Always,

Mama

I am wearing Elly in the Sakura Bloom Simple Silk in Mindnight