"I love you, mama."

*I will go ahead and preface this blog with an apology - it has been six months since my last blog. I really must do better. It's up to you (whoever you may be) to keep me accountable. Also, a huge thanks to my very best friend KMMMM, because she has inspired me to write this.*

My daughter is now almost seven months old. Where does the time go? Becoming a parent makes your life go by so much faster. Things, irrelevant things.. once so important are now just a memories, fading to black in the background of reality. I always said I didn't know what I would do with a little girl - but the answer revealed itself to me the very first time I saw her. Love her. That's what I'll do. Because if I love her, then everything else will work itself out, right?

This is not a blog about Alivia, although she makes me a better mother (and person in general) with every smile and giggle. (But now that I think about it, maybe a blog for her will come after this one.) This blog is about Aidan, my knight in shining armor, who saves me every day.

When I found out I was pregnant with Aidan, shocked is an understatement. Little did I know how this little boy would change my life. From his first word to the first ER visit, I have tried to soak up every ounce of him and show him every day how much I love him. Although he changed my life, I have no doubts and no regrets that he was the right decision. I shower this little boy with kisses because I know one day he won't want me to. I tell him I love him with almost every breath, because I know one day he will hate me (or say it in a fit of anger at least). He has made me want to be better, more active, more involved, more everything. Now that he is walking, talking, laughing, playing and becoming an individual instead of my little hip-hugger, he can tell me what he did during the day at school. He can count to 10 (even though sometimes he skips five), say his ABCs (with a little help, of course), tell me who he played withat school and that he loves "his Day-mee and Ammar" (Jamie and Amber, his teachers). He gives me "big kisses," which means he squeezes my cheeks with his fingers so hard they're sore before he plants a big, juicy wet one on my lips. I eat, sleep and breathe this child. He is a part of what makes me whole.

A few months ago I was having a really tough day. Exhausted (which is normal for me given my schedule) and irritated, I was probably a bit snappy that day. Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to be bothered. I needed some alone time (is that so much to ask?!?). I had just put Alivia down for a nap, and finally got to take a breather myself. I sat in the rocking chair in our living room to relax, when Aidan ran up to me from the playroom. Surely, he wanted a cup. Or some gummies. Surely, he wanted SOMETHING. But no. What was hands down the best dose of medicine I could have ever received, Aidan looked at me with his big blue eyes and said, "I love you, Mama." He jumped in my lap, gave me a big squeeze and a "big kiss," and ran back into the playroom like nothing had ever happened. I almost had to pinch myself. Did my two-year-old really just INTENTIONALLY make me feel better? How could he have possibly known what I was feeling? Then, it hit me. I carried this little person inside my womb for nine (practically ten, but who's counting?) months. He IS, and always will be a part of me. He saved me. Every day, he saves me.

I've always heard, "Never underestimate a mother's love for her child." But now, oh now.. I live that every day. There is nothing I don't do for them. I want my children to be proud to call me their mother. I want them to understand (though they probably won't until they are parents themselves) that the only true, unconditional love is that of a parent. Until the end of time I will cherish every "I love you, mama." I don't understand how any mother couldn't.

Aidan, I just want you to know that I have always loved you, even before I knew you existed. Before you, I was nothing important. Nothing special. But you - you have helped make me who I am. My hope is that I leave behind (for you and your sisters) something to be proud of. All I ask, all I can hope, is that you never stop saying "I love you." Forever and ever, Mama


- From the Burnams, with love.