Getting Better

Hey Jude,

I am thrilled to be your mother today, darling boy. I have walked through this day full up, spilling over the edges, so glad you're exactly you, I'm exactly me, and we're exactly here.

Maybe I'm getting better at breathing through the hours you refuse to be put down, refuse to be held any other way than on my shoulder, refuse to be held while I'm sitting down or standing still. Those are trying hours, but I'm practicing long-suffering and trying to remember that you won't always fit in my arms this way, won't always want me to be this close.

Maybe your dad and I are getting better at being parents together. We are starting to get into a routine. I get 7-8 a.m. to myself. This morning I took a long walk. I felt refreshed when I came back home to find you asleep in your father's arms. I took over while he had some time of his own. Then we spent the rest of the morning with you, and coffee, of course.

Maybe I'm getting better at losing sleep and you're getting better at finding it.

I'm just so pleased when I look at you, Jude. There are so many things I'm doing, and going to do, wrong. But I have to believe that, as the song I walked up the aisle to your father on our wedding day says, "What comes is better than what came before." And The Beatles sang it right:

"I admit it's getting better,
A little better all the time.
Yes I admit it's getting better.
It's getting better since you've been mine,
Getting so much better all the time."

It's getting better, baby! It's getting better.

All my loving,
Momma