I’d do it all. 

I’d play with you every single time you asked me to, no matter how high the dishes and laundry were.

I’d kiss your boo-boo over and over even though it’s been gone for a week already—simply because you asked and said that’s what makes it better. 

I’d tell you to stop doing cartwheels on the couch—10 times in 10 minutes. Daily. 

I’d play your favorite song on repeat—every day, for six months—and sing it like it was my favorite too.

I’d let you creep into our bed at 2 a.m. and take up all the space with your tiny toes in my face, all for our king bed to feel like a twin.

I’d sit on the floor with you when you say, “Mommy, can we just talk?” even if that means dinner is later than originally planned, again.

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I’d braid your hair 20 times a day until it was exactly what you wanted and felt your best in.

I’d stop vacuuming the second you pull at my shirt and say, “Mommy, can I lay with you?”

I’d pick you up and hold you through any place, weather, or setting, for as long as you wanted me to. 

I’d wipe all your tears away from being frustrated because you simply couldn’t button your shirt right.

I’d do it all, a million times over.

I’d do it all because . . . 

The clothes get bigger each time I fold them.

“Mommy” turns into “Mom” before I even have a chance to understand what that will really feel like. 

Being your favorite person right now is the greatest feeling in the world.

Your voice will forever be my favorite sound.

Holding my hand might soon be embarrassing for you, not to mention a forehead kiss or hug.

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You’ll put on your own Band-Aid and won’t even cry, let alone cry for me.

Your voice won’t be tiny anymore—it’ll be more mature and heard through a phone because you’re no longer attached to my hip. 

Because one day, our home will be much cleaner and quieter, and though I’ll be so proud of the person I know God is creating you to be, I’ll miss you in this season. Where you just wanted all of my time, attention, and focus. 

I’d do it all. A million times over. With the most grateful heart. 

Because being a mom, especially yours, is sweeter than I ever could’ve imagined or deserved.

Originally published on the author’s Instagram page