Lizzie….

…is home.  She came in last night as a result of a stolen purse and no ID.  Has to get all new ‘stuff.’  As much as I hate her misfortune – phone, drivers license, make-up gone – I am happy.  My daughter is home.

I love all my children.  Sometimes one more than the other.  Nature of the beast of motherhood, I guess. 

My boys are attentive.  They do as I ask, usually, and with no hesitation.  They are sweet- tempered deep down, really deep, and always make me feel that what I’m asking is no biggie.

Lizzie is different.  She will show displeasure with a statement I make, and we push each others buttons.  Always have. 

But I saw her when she was less than a minute old and was gone.  Bamboozled. Probably because of miscarriages between Alan and she.  No child has ever been as wanted.

I know her by heart.  There are connections/wires/attachments between us that can’t be put into mere words.  It’s physical and emotional and necessary to my existence.  She has brought me and taught me more than I ever did for her.  She is my breath.

When she is with me I’m at peace. 

Sometimes.