To Bubbles and Jerry Lee Lewis
I’m not sorry. When we got out that blue plastic cup and the candy cane straw, I’m not sorry I taught you how to blow bubbles into the water. I don’t care that you spilled liquid all over the place, or that you turned the straw into a sprinkler and rained everywhere.
I’m not sorry I taught you the word “yucky.” You said it, laughing, as I changed your Very Yucky Diaper. Me, unaccustomed to such atrocities, but I pitched in. For you. Even though it was yucky. I’m glad you loved that word.
I’m not sorry MTM taught you how to play the piano with your bottom. (Never mind that you took a dump in your pants during that session.) And, he held you while you lit up the keys with your twinkle-toes. Your smile was exquisite, your song sublime, as you made new music in your own time.
I’m not sorry I held you while you cried. Cutting Big Teeth…..that’s painful. You gnawed on the pain while I read six books and cuddled you in my lap. You sobbed fat tears, and in vain I tried to distract you with a truck. A choo-choo. That. Your favorite words.
I’m not sorry I blew a full bottle of bubbles into your bath, while, delighted, you shrieked, “POP the bubble!” Your first complete sentence could only be a command. You’ve always known what you wanted.
May it always be so.
I love you.