She said you will be my cross to bear.
There will be complicated times, I know, when I will wish for the simplicity of your little tantrums, and your whining, and your squealing screams. Times when you and I are searching for our footing in our roles as mother and daughter.
In those times, I will remember how I taught you about the bumblebees, and how to paint and blow bubbles, and how you always always always wanted to help me water the plants, do the laundry, empty the dishwasher.
I will remember how you swept the hair from your eyes with the back of your hand, and how breathtaking you looked in a sundress and bare feet.
I will remember you and your cats. Even now when I take jellycat in my hands, and press him to my nose, a rush of a thousand beautiful memories nearly makes my heart burst.
One thing I know, Ella, is that she’s wrong about you.
You will never be my cross to bear.