Mama… Hug

Every morning, I open my eyes. And the very first thing I do — before I yawn, before I stretch, before I even think — is look for you.

“Mama.... Mama.... Mama....”

When she’s there? I smile so big my whole face does it. I throw my arms open as wide as they go.

“Mama....... HUG.”

That is the best part of every single day. It is not even close.

When you are NOT there?

I am not okay. I want to be clear about this.

I am NOT. Okay.

(I will cry. I will let everyone know. This is important information and people need to have it.)

Mama says I am silly. She is correct.

I do things to make her laugh. I do things to make me laugh. Sometimes I do not even know what I did, but if it made her laugh, I will do it again.

And again. And AGAIN.

(Comedy is a gift. I have it.)

Sometimes Dada needs help with something. I help.

Even if it is heavy. Even if it is hard. Even if I am very small. I help anyways.

And when someone does something kind for me — I look up. I know.

“Kank-kou.”

(I always know when someone did something good for me. I always say so. That is just how I am.)

I love to color.

“Kah-lah. Kah-lah. Kah-lah. KAH-LAH.”

I make lines. I make circles. I make things that are not circles but started as circles. Mama watches me like I am making something important. I am.

(Even if nobody knows what it is yet. Including me.)

Sometimes, right in the middle of everything — in the middle of playing, in the middle of eating, in the middle of absolutely nothing at all —

I stop. I walk over to her. I wrap my arms around her. I hold on.

No reason. No words. Just this.

(Mama gets very quiet when I do this. I think she really likes it.)

When it is time to go — when Mama lifts me up for the night, when someone I love is about to leave, when the day is done and I know it —

I look at them. I place my palm on my lips. And I blow. 💋

“Buh-bye.”

That means I love you. That means goodbye. That means you matter to me and I need you to know that before you go.

(I only do this for people I really like. They know who they are.)

People say I look just like her. They are right.

Dada wanted at least one win. He has some — he knows it — but fortunately, I am your twin.

The whole world sees it. And deep down? He loves it.

I say “Dada” all the time. I say “Dada” for everything.

But when I say “Mama” —

I mean it.

Every single letter. Every single time.

People say I am smart. People say I learn fast. People say I understand things that babies are not supposed to understand yet.

Maybe. But here is what I know for sure —

I took steps before. Little ones. Wobbly ones. But my REAL first steps? I did not walk just anywhere.

I walked to her. Into her arms.

Like I already knew where home was.

(I did. I have always known.)

She is the reason I laugh like I do — the big, full, infectious laugh that starts in my belly and takes over my whole face.

That came from her. The silliness, the joy — all of it, her.

She was up at night when I needed it. She gave things up I do not even know about yet. Someday I will understand.

(And sometimes — when nothing else will do — I say the word. THE word. She always comes.)

“TEH - TEH.”

Mama —

I cannot say everything yet. My words are still small.

But my arms? My arms are wide open.

Every morning. Every time. Just for you.

“Mama........ Hug.”