My daughter was born crying, and the first months of her life kept me in the best shape of mine. Sitting became somewhat of a faded memory of yesteryears. Day after day, and night after night, I would pace the floor of her tiny bedroom until a path shown itself through the carpet. But as exhausted and emotional and completely smelly I ever became, still my heart burst would burst in this indescribable love. And with her tiny little frame resting against mine I would often sing to her:

“You are my sunshine. 

My only sunshine. 

You make me happy, when skies are grey. 

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.

No one can take my Boston away.” 

I didn’t like the sad ending of the original, so I changed it to my liking, and would sing until my throat grew dry. Sometimes she would eventually fall asleep. And I would gaze at her perfect little face and know that I would live the rest of my days just for her.

Five years later and she is now a little school girl, complete with the giggles and holding all her best friends’ hands. And my beginning cryer is now the most content and happy girl around. But a few days ago her brother kicked her, because that’s just part of their job title it seems. She ran to me in tears. I should have talked to her brother about it. I should have offered her words of comfort. But at this point in the day I was exhausted, and frustrated, and wanted to be anything but the “good mom” at the moment. And so for reasons I don’t really know I instead scooped her long and lanky frame all the way up, and held her tight to my chest. I began slowly pacing the floor, and a melody from what seemed so very long ago came to my lips again.

“You are my sunshine. 

My only sunshine. 

You make me happy, when skies are grey. 

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.

No one can take my Boston away.” 

I sang it again. And again. Trying to burn it deep into my heart–all of it. The beginning days of crying and colic, and the todays of silliness and adventures. A little girl still in need of her momma. Still so reliant on my arms of comfort and whispers of love.

Becoming a mom seems to surface so many internal struggles within ourselves. Questions, doubts, wonderings. But behind it all is this pure and uncomplicated love between a mother and her child. And I have convinced myself to believe that as long as that love remains, everything else will be okay.

Love that paces carpet floors without question simply because it means her child’s tears are no more. Love that later runs those same carpets to rush straight into her momma’s warm arms. Love that finds her heart as happy at her child’s preschool musical as if she were at the greatest of broadway shows. Love that sings her tiny heart out with eyes locked in on only one special person in the entire room. Love that doesn’t question the mistakes, or the failures. That sees beauty–even on the messy hair days. The quiet love of the simple day to days. Often unspoken. Forever present. Forever enough.

The two of us stayed in that same embrace a few minutes more. And then, her own little voice began to sing back into my ear:

“You are my sunshine. 

My only sunshine. 

You make me happy, when skies are grey. 

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.

No one can take my momma away.”