Your Kids Won’t Remember the Size of Your Body

Dear Mom,

I want to tell you about the “you” I remember from my eyes. I was young and don't remember much.

I could tell the days were long for you, but our world was always moving fast. You kept us busy.

I remember you playing with us a lot. You taught us hopscotch, Candy Land, and we played hide 'n seek. We used our scooters and did a lot of laughing as we raced to the end of the driveway and back.

…but I don’t remember the size of your body.

I remember when it rained, we made blanket forts, and our imaginations changed the space from moment to moment. We were the masters of our tiny universe, and you were our fearless leader.

…but I don’t remember the size of your body.

I remember how you made us chicken nuggets with ketchup shaped in a smile. I remember all the little ways you made us feel loved. Your hugs. Your soft touches. Your kisses on the top of our heads.

…but I don’t remember the size of your body.

I remember you always doing something, whether making meals, cleaning, or playing with us. I don’t remember you ever sitting down. I do remember catching you with tears in your eyes, but you said, "sometimes we just need to cry and let it out, but mommy is okay," and then the moment would pass, and we'd all be smiling, laughing, and playing again.

We had a lot of tears, but we had a lot of smiles.

…but I don’t remember the size of your body.

I remember you saying kind words to yourself and others.

It was a time I remember fondly—being young and carefree.

And I never noticed when you gained or lost weight or what your body looked like exactly. All I remember is how you felt when I hugged you, and it felt like a comfortable blanket because you're always my home.

Love,

Your Child