I want to remember you this way.

Two years old,

blonder hair

that sometimes still curls at your neck,

round cheeks,

thinner thighs

but still soft,

still squishy.

Your blue eyes still sparkle.

You still drink mama milk.

You still reach for me.

But now,

you wave with a stiff arm and a jerky hand

when you leave the room.

“Byyyee!”

as you blow a kiss.

You yell my name

“Mommy! Mommy!”

(no longer “Mama”)

when you want my attention,

over and over,

louder and louder,

demanding that I watch,

that I acknowledge,

or that I give you something

I already said “no” to.

You say things like

“no!” and “yessss” and “peeease.”

You tell me frogs say “wibbit!”

and monkeys say “oo oo ah ah.”

You tell me you want “mawkies”

(ahem, milkies)

and “kindy”

(ahem, candy)

all the time.

I’m still waiting to hear “I love you”

but when I ask if you love Mama,

you nod your head emphatically

with raised eyebrows

and wide eyes

that tell me you really do.

You love to jump in puddles,

to point at “wooms” (worms)

and to look for airplanes.

You love to hide in plain sight,

to have marshmallow tea parties,

to run from Daddy in the living room,

and to take your “shush” (brush) to bed.

And while you sleep,

you still clutch your “Zhuzhu” (Goosey)

in a pudgy hand.

And when I’m gone and then I come home,

you run to me,

wrap your arms around my knees,

and say “Mommeeeee!”

as though I’ve been away too long

and our reunion is what

you’ve been waiting for.

You make friends with a simple smile and wave,

you hug strangers with your whole body,

and your face lights up when you see a dog,

or a cat,

or a bird.

You lean close to look people in the eye.

You notice things.

You love with abandon.

And that is what gets me —

your willingness,

your open heart,

your innocence.

You don’t know

that people are being shot for no reason,

that grandmas go missing,

that daddies sometimes die.

You don’t know any pain greater than

falling off the coffee table.

Yet.

I know it’s coming.

I know you’ll some day ask, “why?”

I know some day you’ll say that you hate me.

I know that some day,

the pain will run deeper,

the tears will fall harder,

living will hurt.

But for now,

I want to remember you this way.

I want to remember your softness,

your giggles,

your wispy curls and chubby cheeks,

your pouty lips,

your acceptance,

your sweetness.

Most of all,

I want to remember

the way you lead with your heart,

arms open,

ready to love,

forever believing

that everyone is worthy of it,

and capable of it

too.