I will not let you own me.
I will watch bees with my children
and help them find airplanes in the sky.
I will join friends for girls’
nights
and go out on dates with my husband.
I will learn new things,
and those things will not only be
ways you might
affect my child’s
digestion
sleep
learning
and gross motor skills.
I will learn those things, too, of course,
and anything else I need to know about you.
I will be his fiercest advocate.
But I will also learn
how to find enjoyment in cooking,
how to take three children to the grocery store by myself,
and how to style my hair with a flat iron.
Because you do not own me.
You are not me.
You are a part of our family experience, it’s true,
but you don’t own us.
When I make soup
it will not be to distract myself from you;
it will be to figure out why the heck people love making
soup so much.
And when I do,
my baby will lie on the floor in his little gym.
His oldest brother will lie next to him,
and let him play with his hair,
and giggle because it will tickle when he touches his arm.
The peace of that moment will not be because we have
forgotten you;
it will be because the toddler will be taking a much-needed
nap.
When he wakes up refreshed,
the four of us will read stories together,
play outside,
take a walk up the street,
and delight in finding a robin’s nest
or an abandoned snakeskin.
My son will never shed you like a snake sheds its skin.
You are an intrinsic part of him
like any bone, vessel, or organ.
But you alone do not constitute all that he is and all that he will be.
My child is himself; he is not you.
Neither are you all that I
am, or all that I will be.
You are a part of us now,
and I don’t resent you.
You are who you are
and that is just fine.
I won’t push you out of my mind.
You are free to come and go as you please.
Because I don’t own you.
But always remember
that you
most definitely
do not
own
me.
