Love. Do you feel it, my baby?
It’s that giggle down deep in your belly—the one that lingers just a little longer, like the crackling of a fire on a snowy winter’s eve.
It’s every hug, every kiss, every time you feel me stop to breathe you in.
It’s every book I read and reread again just to see your eyes light up with wonder, to feel your fingers squeeze mine with excitement.
You might not know what love is right now, but I hope you feel it.
I hope it nourishes your body so your character becomes strong and steadfast. In a world so devoid of compassion and filled with sadness, I hope you remember what it feels like to be loved so unconditionally.
I hope you stand tall against all the adversity life piles at your feet, against all the sadness itching to steal your joy. There will be a lot of that in this life—sadness. I hope you know that love is enough, that it is always the answer even when it hurts to give it.
And one day, hopefully, many years from now when you can’t physically squeeze my hand any longer or feel my breath on your cheek, I hope you still feel it.
I hope you feel all the moments: all the giggles, the snuggles, the endless encouragement, every extra minute I spent soaking up our time together. I hope it all courses through your veins, propelling you forward, leading you to walk through life unafraid and one hundred percent certain of who you are—loved by me, a mother who could only love so great because she was first loved so relentlessly by Him.
I hope you always feel it. Always.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page