“I love you so much…” I hear my three-year-old’s voice singing these words to the tune of “Happy Birthday” in the next room as she plays, and I smile.
These days are full—up early, to bed late, and all the minutes between. And my daughter is still singing.
These days are messy—our house gets messy in less than five minutes, and our hearts get messy towards one another even faster than that. And my daughter is still singing.
I’m weaker than I care to admit—I get impatient and feel weary and want to clock out by dinner time. And my daughter is still singing.
Even though our days are full and messy and I’m weak, I cry out to God for help because I want to end well. I want to end these years at home well. I want to finish motherhood well.
And that means ending the day well, no matter what happened in the middle of it. After we pray and before a good-night kiss, I always sing:
“I love you so much,
I love you so much,
I love you sweet daughter,
I love you so much.”
At the end of the day, I hope that is what she hears. And when our time at home together ends, that is what I hope she remembers.
She is loved, by God and by me.
I smile today when I hear her sing these words to herself because I know she has been listening.