To my son:
Love is your diaper; constantly dry and clear to keep you comfortable
Love is the strong, protective embraces you received, whenever you reach out your arms for hugs
Love is your feeding bottle; always filled with sweet milk at proper temperature when you are hungry.
Love is your quilt; during every chilly nights mysteriously comes back to keep you warm, no matter how many times you kick it away.
Love is Mammy’s out- of- key lullaby; she never hummed a song before
Love is Grandma’s arch back, bent down to dress you and tend you
Love is Daddy’s face split in a smile, as soon as he set eyes on you
Love is the strong arms holding you, the eyes watching over you, the soft words said to you, and the dreams about you
Love is every entry here I wrote for you; though you may never read them
