I choose you
I sit on my computer, working, being productive.
You want to play. Your 18-month-old brain doesn’t understand. You try to touch the computer. You reach for it.
I keep pushing you away.
You climb on me and try to play, but my attention is on the screen.
That’s when you turn to look at this thing. This thing that is separating you from your Momma. A slight sigh escapes your tiny body as you sit in my lap and examine this thing that has my focus.
And in your eyes I see it. I see the wheels turning. I see the unspoken questions lurking around in your developing brain. The brain that’s forming your picture of your world piece by piece, every day, with every interaction and experience. “Where do I fit in my Momma’s world? How do I compare to this thing that Momma loves so much? Is it more important than me?”
My heart sinks. My throat tightens. I set down my computer.
Looking you straight in the eyes with a huge smile on my face, I tickle you and kiss on you, and you laugh in joy at being the center of your Momma’s attention.
“No, sweet baby. A thousand times, No. You are more important than anything that distracts me. You are my center. You are my focus. You are good and beautiful and worthy and important. You are Momma’s girl. I choose you.”