What I Want You To Remember

You won’t remember the hours I spent rocking you.
You won’t remember the way I worried that you weren’t eating enough.
You won’t remember the time I spent baking and decorating your birthday cakes.
You won’t remember the tears I cried when you were sick.
You won’t remember the sleepless nights.
You won’t remember the pain I felt when breastfeeding.
You won’t remember the bedtime arguments.
You won’t remember any of that.
 
It isn’t your job to remember the work, the fears, the struggles of early parenthood.
I’m not doing my job if I place that stress on your tiny shoulders.
The things I want for you, the things I want you to remember, are only good.
 
I want you to remember the warmth of my chest under your cheek.
I want you to remember the lullabies that soothed you to sleep.
I want you to remember the taste of those birthday cakes on your tongue.
I want you to remember the tears of happiness that only you could inspire.
I want you to remember you were worth every sleepless night.
I want you to remember that your health meant more to me than my comfort.
I want you to remember the bedtime stories that taught you to dream.
I want you to remember that you were safe and loved.
 
I want you to remember we are your home wherever you roam.
 

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