Letter to Daughter VII

Ccccccccccccccccc, c-c-c, :)

Chinkipieplumplum, mommy is delighted right now. And she can do nothing better but share it with you, love. You are, after all, mommy's bes-fend. Each unemployed afternoon, each deadline evening, whenever I have written, you have been my first listener. You, in your wide open eyes, gaping at words you have never heard of, you, in your unmanageable curls trying to appear grave, you, in your sleepiness, extremely awakened by the awe of my excitement -- what have you ever gathered, Chinks?

I care not. For, having gathered whatever you may have (or, may not have), you inevitably passed that smile, unusual of a toddler like you. The smile, which like a sponge, soaks in all my doubts. The smile which may be, for all I know, a relief at yet another reading session getting over. Mommy writes, C, and gradually mommy is being read by more than she ever was. What is even surprising is, all that she is writing, is being wholly loved. Loved, C. Loved. Like you love your visits to Granny-D, or your stealing in another hour of no-study-only-play. And mommy cannot believe most of it. 

It took mommy an ageline of blind childhood aims turning to fantastic adolescent intentions and finally giving in to whatever life would offer to realize what she is meant to do. It took her a lifetime. This means something similar to spoiling all the walls of our house and believing you want to be an artist to soon find out that you have a tickle toe for the drum set, an ear for rhythm. Mommy was meant to do two things in life, C. Love you, and write.

Till such time that you actually sit in my lap, your tiny little butter fingers scrolling over this letter, word by word, making a universe of meaning for your own little world to fit in, know this, that C is not just an alphabet for mommy. C is you. And if you frown so much to understand what this letter is about, your eyebrows would join and become a tree. And then birds would make a nest and live there. So much so that they would snatch each chip and spoonful of Nutella that you would ever want to eat!

Loving you, and writing -- one entails the other.

Momsie.