The thoughts of a Mother

I look at you—my baby boy—so big now, so strong, so full of life.

Once, you were so small. So fragile. I remember holding you, watching every breath, protecting every heartbeat.

I see you still. I see you. And I want to protect you. I want to nurture you.

But today… today my heart aches in a different way.

When you were little, the pain of watching you hurt felt unbearable. I remember the shots, the tears, the way my own chest would tighten and break for you. Every year, I felt it again—the sting, the ache, as if it were my own skin.

And now here we are—you’re eleven. I’m sitting beside you for the last time until you’re sixteen, waiting for these final shots. You’ve grown tall and sure, and I… I have grown tired. Worn down by life. By showing up every day. By the relentless pace of it all.

And instead of overflowing with comfort, I find myself impatient. Annoyed, even, that you’re nervous.

And that’s what stops me cold.

Because you’re still my sweet boy. I still want to protect you. I still love you with everything in me. So why does it feel like I couldn’t pause to give you the softness you needed? Why did I let the world speak louder than your fear?

I’m sorry, my little love. I’m sorry Mommy didn’t show up the way you deserved. I’m sorry I let the noise and weight of everything else drown out the moment that mattered most.

You are my heart. You always have been. And I love you more than words will ever hold.