Letter to my Little Son

Dear Darling Boy,
I am writing you this letter on the heals of my latest (very public!) posting.
Since it is my intention to periodically publish (privately) all of my posts into books for you and your sister to look at, peruse, remember, and smile over, I wanted to have this letter among my prattlings to explain why I say embarrassing and seemingly incriminating things to the World At Large.
First of all, Little Son (though grown up now enough to read this!) it is and was never my intention to say anything to embarrass or shame you.
Please know that all of the things you say to me, the things you do, I see as a great blessing to my life on this earth, and indeed, vital to my very spirit.
I asked someone once, a long, long time ago, if parenthood had made him a better person. More of himself... more great... more More. He looked at me as if I was impossible to understand. He simply said "No."
And I thought... "How strange."
You see, even then, I knew that I would become More when I had you in my life.
More magical. More interesting. More loving. More romantic. More involved. More Me.
So I am always so grateful just to have you in my life.

The embarrassing things - and there will probably be many- are not said to embarrass you. As I said, I am so thankful for them. Anytime something... off...happens, as I tell you now, and I hope you remember hearing the words when you are grown, is that you are never to blame for my disgruntlement, dissatisfaction, irritation, unhappiness, anger, or upsetment. (You have charmingly taken to saying "ment" on the end of words, and I thank you for that, too, as my Writer Self doesn't have to work so hard to come up with something suitable.)
My complaints are never about you.
You are always the Hero of the story.
The things I live courtesy of you and your sister are Calls for Courage. They are Challenges for the Spirit. They are Demands for Growth. Acknowledgments of Truth. They, now, in this magical place called Motherhood, are my life and breath.
How could I have any disdain for that?

Sometimes in a quest for realization, or for understanding, one must voice one's thoughts.
Especially if in your most sacred place you understand yourself best by expressing yourself through words spoken only in your head. For some of us, the deliberateness and unhurriedness of putting words together through our hands is the only way to that understanding. Some of us are writers.
You, Darling Boy, are unlucky enough to have a writer for a mother.
And even more vexing!- one who loves the inspiration received from others who respond. Just as I need you and your sister, and your father, and the air, and love, and joy, and peace to grow, so is this an important part of my finding my Truths.

It is not my intent to try to justify my actions and words, or to place your needs below my own.
I hope that you never, never feel ashamed, remorse, or guilt over the stories I have shared here. They began as a way of keeping track of your childhood, and have now become so very important to me.
In reviewing my moments I have come to cherish every bit of the things you say, and do, and believe, and imagine, and explore, and love.
Your loves are my loves. Your triumphs are my triumphs. Your discoveries lead me to my discoveries.

I can only thank you with every bit of sincerity in my possession for all that you are to me.
Instead of being embarrassed, Darling, please be proud.

You make my life so delightful.
You are my salvation.

With adoration always,
Mama