“Be careful mama, you’ve got a heartbreaker on your hands.”
It’s true. Anytime I hear his infectious laugh, see his sweet smile, or look into those soft, blue eyes, I know it. My son has the potential to break a lot of hearts one day.
But mine will be the first.
I felt it the first time he smiled at me. A little crack split right through my new mama heart. Not from pain but pure joy. As if there was so much happiness bursting through my body that my chest alone couldn’t contain it.
I felt it again when he said his first word. It was “Poop.” But lo and behold, that one silly word managed to open that crack a little wider.
The first “I love you,” was also the first time my heart needed some time to mend. How lucky was I to be the first woman he would say those three words to? Then I realized I wouldn’t be the last.
My heart went from cracked to broken the first time he asked for his dad instead of me. It was a bittersweet heartache that meant my son needed me less, but only because he had a good father he needed more.
I know another piece will crumble away when I drop him off for his first day of kindergarten. And I am sure seeing him get behind the wheel for the first time will not be any easier.
Don’t even get me started on the day he takes his last steps out my front door. Knowing I won’t be expecting him home that night is enough to break me, even now.
Today he is two. And yet, I often catch glimpses of the boy/teen/man he is growing up to be. He is charismatic, affectionate, and incredibly softhearted. And cute as a button, if I do say so myself.
He gives me a pain that is both unbearable, yet entirely worth it. The only person I will let break my heart, again and again, loving him more with each and every fracture.
Yes, my son may very well break a few hearts one day.
But mine will always be the first.