This is my beautiful 28-year-old mother reading to me after my third birthday celebration. It is a story about a queen who longs for a baby girl with skin as white as snow, hair as black as ebony, and lips as red as blood. I love the way her hand is under her chin supporting our lean into each other and her feet are tucked up under us both.
Look how she curled my hair, and put me in a party dress and sweater with a faux fur collar, and put a dainty heart necklace around my little neck:
My mother loves me something fierce. What started out as a sweet and simple relationship blossomed into one that encompassed so many others. My sisters and I brought into her life our boyfriends, eventually sons-in-law, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren even. The joys and the sorrows multiplied. It's all rather complicated now but I'd like to get back to the simple love. Perhaps one day I'll put her in a pretty party dress and curl her hair and put a dainty necklace around her neck and read her stories and make her a special cake. I love my mom an awful lot.
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